Mélanyë
by MelanyeBaggins
Summary: After her mother sails from the Grey Havens, Mélanyë finds unexpected adventure when they pick up a hobbit on their way back to Imladris. AU;OC
1. Chapter One

AN: Hello everyone and welcome to my Inkling! I've been working on this story for close to two years now (it _is _almost done.) and I've finally decided to post it on a public site for all to flame. This story is slightly AU, although I tried to only change it in such a way as to allow for it's _possibility_ to happen within the framework of the books. I've used both the books *and* movie in this story, so think of it as a healthy blend of both :)  
  
I don't want to be _too_ long-winded. just to say that the rating is there for some violence and implied sex, as well as some rather disturbing subject matter. This is also part one of a larger story that sort of grew from this on its own. The second part is titled 'Ancalim' and is already posted. The third will be posted in sequence in this same 'story', since it is a continuation of it. I'll let you know when to go and seek part two before continuing :)

  
Oh, as for the Elvish used in the story, I tried to make it so that you can tell what they're saying from the context. If you need help, ask, but most of it is in a short glossary on my web page. ( )  
  
K, on with the story. 

Chapter One: Partings and Meetings

The grey ship pushed off from the misty shore as the first stars began to appear in the western sky. As it faded into the fog, a young elf, small and barefoot raised a hand in silent parting, a tear falling from her clear brown eyes. 

"_Namari_," she whispers hoarsely. Around her other elves busied themselves preparing for the long trip back to Imladris and the Last Homely House. This company would be small, for most who had come had taken the Grey Ship to Valinor. A tall elf bowed low to speak to the girl on the shore.

"We are leaving, Mélanyë," he says. Blinking away some distant memory she turns and follows her kin, not looking back, but knowing she will return some day.

As ghosts they passed through the woods of the Shire. In the deep dark of night the little halflings never dared to venture into the woods and so never saw them pass. This night, however, they waited for the one who would join them.

Mélanyë crept as close as she dared to the edge of the forest. Down below a great celebration was taking place; many hobbits singing and dancing and laughing. She looked down wistfully at the party under the Tree and wished in her heart she could join them. It was a wish she forever kept secret. A wondrous life she had with the elves, but she often craved a simple life among the hobbits.

"Today is my one-hundred-and-eleventh birthday!" One of the hobbits proclaimed rousing a great cheer and many 'happy birthdays' in return. Mélanyë smiled and inched closer.

"I don't know half of you half as well as I should like, and I like less than half of you half as well as you deserve!" The Hobbit proclaimed to the confusion of the assembled guests. It seemed to her at that moment that she saw the beauty of mortals. It occurred to her that she had never seen an aged face, though she knew that such things existed outside of her realm. As Elves are immortal, she had never seen the slow decay of time, and the etching of years on a person's face. Now that she saw these things, instead of feeling pity or compassion, she admired the wisdom that lay in their eyes. It was altogether a different sort of wisdom than when she looked upon the other Elves, for this wisdom was borne of great joys, but also of great hardships. 

Suddenly the hobbit who had been speaking vanished. Startled, she searched the faces of the other halflings gathered about the Tree and noted the shock on their faces. Soon it developed to an uproar. It was only then that she saw one whom she recognized. 

"_Mithrandir!_" she exclaimed. Several other elves joined her in the grass to see the Grey Pilgrim seated at a table with four young hobbits. The expression he bore was that of one who knew a great secret. Amidst the clamor and confusion of the hobbits around him, the old wizard calmly rose and left the party. The four he had been sitting with remained seated in silent shock. 

"It won't be long now," whispered Elrohir to his brother Elladan. "The halfling will come soon." They rose and left Mélanyë to watch the confusion below. She looked back at the small table where Mithrandir had been sitting. It was empty.

Scarcely an hour had passed as Mélanyë was preparing her pony to depart from the woods that they heard a cheerful song approaching. She heard the little voice and her heart rose; he had come at last. 

_"The road goes ever on and on_

_down from the door where it began_

_Now far ahead the Road has gone_

_and I must follow if I can...'_

Just then The Hobbit popped up through the trees facing away from their company. Elrohir greeted the little man.

"_Mae Govannen, Bilbo I Drann_." Bilbo turned round and bowed low to the Elf.

"At your service and your family's, Elrohir, son of Elrond." he replied in the common tongue. 

"We are ready to depart," Elrohir said. "Have you finished your task?"

"Yes," Bilbo answered, and Mélanyë thought he looked longingly back through the woods, "I have."

"Then let us go." And Elrohir was off to his grey horse

"You shall ride with me," Mélanyë said as the old Hobbit approached. When he saw her, she thought she saw recognition in his eyes, but then it was gone. She bowed to him. "Mélanyë, daughter of Ancalimë." He bowed to her in proper Hobbit fashion. "Bilbo Baggins of the Shire."

She helped him up onto her pony, and then climbed up herself and took the reigns. The company then departed the Shire, and if any had seen them pass they would have thought it merely a dream or a trick of the eye. 

Bilbo, it seems, was a rather good storyteller, and told many of these to Mélanyë as they rode across the North Downs. She learned all about his family, which was quite extensive. He often spoke of his 'dear cousin Frodo' adding usually, 'how I'll miss that boy'. 

"You know, his father and mother died while he was just a lad, the poor thing," he would say. "Granted I hadn't seen Drogo in many years, but-"

"What was his fathers name?"

"Drogo, son of Fosco. His mother was a Brandybuck, who as I hear was quite - "

"Drogo?" she asked again. Bilbo seemed a little taken aback at being interrupted twice in one thought. "Drogo was my father's name..." she trailed off. Bilbo, for once, was speechless. At last after several minutes, he composed himself.

"How could this be?" he asked, "Drogo is a Hobbit name."

"Well, my father was a hobbit, of course!" she replied to his surprise. "My mother often spoke of him. She said that she met him in the Western Woods years ago. He enchanted her with a song, and they fell in love." She smiled as she remembered the story. "She brought him to live with her in Rivendell, but he soon felt that he had to leave. He never felt at home there, and often spoke longingly of the Shire." Bilbo, of course was fascinated by all this. He was quiet and thoughtful as he listened. "When they parted, back in the Western Woods where they'd met, he gave her this." She held up a small pendant, which was a piece of unwrought silver strung upon a chain of _mithril_. 

"That was indeed Drogo's!" he exclaimed. "He found it one day on a walk. He thought it lucky, and always kept it with him after that." He wondered about this for some time. "Well, this means you are a Baggins, if I am not mistaken!" he declared at last. "And that makes us family!" Suddenly, it seemed to her, that his whole being changed and he became more merry. He then proceeded to tell her all about Drogo, his cousin, and of _her_ family, as he now put it. 

"And Frodo, why," he paused. "Why, he would be your brother, wouldn't he? He is Drogo's son, after all!" She learned all about her Hobbit family that night, which as it turns out was just as large as his. And, she mused, the trip to Imladris is long indeed.


	2. Chapter Two

Chapter Two: The Stone Trolls

The company had been riding for several days, stopping here and there to rest, mostly without incident. Bilbo and Mélanyë spent much of their time together, telling stories and enjoying each other's company. Bilbo learned quite a bit about life in Rivendell and in turn gave Mélanyë a taste of the Shire. 

"I'd often dream of bright green hills with little round houses," she told him one night as they were resting under the starry sky. A few nights earlier Bilbo had taken it upon himself to teach his new niece the art of blowing smoke rings. He had been astonished to learn that she knew nothing of pipe-weed and the yields of Longbottom. 'Not right for a Hobbit,' he'd said, 'even if you were raised an Elf.' She wouldn't admit it to her new Uncle, but she didn't really care for the stuff herself. Even so, she was quite content to watch him play with the smoke rings, but she rarely dared try herself.

"I wonder how dear Frodo is doing. I do hate the thought of leaving him with such a mess of relatives, but it couldn't be helped. And I did leave them all a proper gift, which should raise their spirits, except, of course old Lobelia." He chuckled then. "I do wish I could see the look on her face when she opens those spoons!" He laughed to himself again. Mélanyë didn't quite understand who Lobelia was or the long feud between Bilbo, Frodo and the Sackville-Bagginses, but seeing Bilbo so merry gladdened her heart as well. "They're after the house, of course," he said for the third time, "They never forgave me for adopting Frodo as my heir. They'll never get Bag End now." 

"How horrible for them," she said to him. "To have waited so long to get Bag End, only to have it passed on to a younger cousin." Even she had to laugh at this. 

"Well, now," Bilbo exclaimed, standing and stretching his limbs. "I feel I should like to go for a walk!"

"But you've been walking!" laughed an elf who was reclining under a tree. "Hobbits are such strange creatures! When walking they want to sit, but when sitting they want to walk!"

"You'd better stop teasing him, Lindir, or he'll ask you to come along!" Mélanyë chided. The elf smiled at her and stood up to join them. He was tall, like most Elves, with silver hair more like the Elves of Mirkwood than of Rivendell. His eyes were as dark and shining as polished onyx. He stooped down in front of Bilbo. 

"What do you say, elf-friend? Would you like some company?" Bilbo heartily agreed and soon the three were off into the woods.

It was a deep, clear night and the stars shone brightly on the three explorers. They found an elven path and were laughing and talking as they followed it. Lindir made sure, however, that in their fun they didn't stray too far from the camp. He was a skilled archer, but if there should be goblins lurking about he doubted he could defend all three of them.

Bilbo, having found a new audience, was joyfully recounting his adventures to the elf, who listened patiently. He was quite courteous, thought Bilbo, noting Lindir's interest as he made comments in the right places and laughed when a joke was told. 

"And then I found myself in a grand hall filled with treasure!" Bilbo said, making a sweeping gesture with his arms. "Smaug lay there upon his great horde, pretending to be asleep, but I knew he was not." Lindir seemed to be as taken with the story as Mélanyë had been. He leaned in closer now as the story went on. 

"When at last I had gathered my courage, I darted down as quick as quick and snatched a golden cup from right under the old dragon's nose!" he exclaimed, sounding pleased with himself. Lindir laughed heartily. 

"Bilbo! No wonder they called you a 'burglar'!" he said. Just then, they came to the end of the path. In front of them was a wall of trees, and they could see no other path around. The three first looked around, and then at each other. "We could go back," said Lindir.

"I'm not quite ready to sit down again," said Bilbo, "And I should like to know what is beyond those trees…it seems almost familiar somehow." 

Cautiously they picked their way through the trees and emerged into a clearing not too far in. Right in front of them they saw three massive shadowy figures that made Lindir draw an arrow in his bow. He walked protectively in front of the two Hobbits and approached the figures. A minute later, they heard a short laugh.

"Ha! Stone! They're made of stone!" he called back to the relief of Mélanyë and Bilbo. He replaced the bow on his back and began to inspect them. Bilbo had already guessed what they were and was delighted beyond belief. 

"It's the trolls!" he said, pointing to each one in turn. "That's Bill, Tom and Bert! And look…Tom has a nest of birds in his ear!" The hobbit began to scurry about and tell his tale once more of the night he and his dwarf friends were captured by the very large, and very stupid trolls. 

"And this…" he ran over to a spot in the woods. "This is where I hid and watched them around their fire…which was…" he ran over to the center of the clearing, "right about here. And the poor dwarves were tied up over there!" He pointed to one side.

"Yes, that was most uncomfortable!" said a loud voice from the direction he had been pointing. Lindir again drew his bow as the hobbits hid behind him. 

"Who's there?" he called, aiming an arrow at the darkness. His dark eyes scanned the clearing and caught movement within the trees. Very slowly an old dwarf came out of the woods with a hand up in friendship. 

"Gloin!" Bilbo cried as he ran over to his friend. His beard was very long and very white. 

"Yes, dear Bilbo, it's me!" said Gloin. "I see you haven't forgotten about us!" Bilbo began to look a little embarrassed at this, but quickly smiled. As he was talking more dwarves wandered out of the woods. Some were part of the original fourteen, Bilbo saw, and others were new.

"Uhh..no! No, of course I haven't forgotten! I even came here to meet you!" he said stammering. Lindir and Mélanyë looked at each other and then at Bilbo and Gloin. "I am going to go with my friends here to visit the King under the Mountain!" 

"King under the Mountain?" asked Lindir, who had lowered his bow once again. "What mountain would that be?"

"What mountain?" Gloin seemed a bit flustered at this elf's ignorance of dwarf matters. "Why, _the_ mountain, of course, The Lonely Mountain! Under the kingship of Dáin II cousin to Thorin Oakensheild."


	3. Chapter Three

AN: First of all, just because it may be a mary-sue, doesn't mean you have to flame it. I really don't understand people's need to belittle other people's work. These chapters were the FIRST fanfic I ever wrote. Two years ago. And I've read weirder things than an elf/hobbit relationship. Trust me. All I ask is that if you're going to flame something, read the whole work first rather than reading one chapter and saying the whole thing sucks. This is chapter 3/40+ Characters grow in that time. 

Next time, think before you flame.

Chapter Three: Old Friends

Elrohir frowned. This was not a good idea. When she had departed, Ancalimë had charged him with Mélanyë's safety on the trip back to Rivendell, but now that seemed to be harder than he realized.

"You want to go with...the dwarves?" he asked. Mélanyë stood before the elf rather sheepishly looking like a young child asking a parent to be released from chores. He sighed. "What possible reason would you have to go tramping about the countryside with a group of strangers?"

"They're not strangers!" she stammered. "They're Mr. Bilbo's friends...and he asked me to come with him." 

"Where would you be going?"

"The mountains."

"Mountains!" Elrohir exclaimed. Just then, Ferar, a young dwarf with a long red beard popped out of the trees to the elf's left. 

"Now see here!" he said, sticking out his belly as he spoke. "We dwarves are fierce warriors, and more than enough protection for this young lass! Besides," he continued, "There's been little or no trouble from anything between here and the Lonely Mountain!"

"The Lonely Mountain!?" cried Elrohir. This was too much. "Do you have any idea how far that is, Mélanyë?" 

"Yes I do!" she said, with a forcefulness that frightened her. "These fine dwarves are strong and brave, and Bilbo still has his blade," She stopped short. Had she really been shouting? She had never raised her voice in anything but song. Suddenly she felt altogether wretched for getting angry with Elrohir, who had been like a brother to her for as long as she could remember. He had always been looking out for her when her mother was away. Looking at him now, he seemed amused rather than upset. 

"Very well, Mélanyë, you may go," he said, grinning. "I'm happy to see you have a spark of courage in you after all, little one." She looked to him in confusion. "Your mother asked me to keep you safe, but it seems that you are able to do so yourself. Perhaps it is the hobbit in you, for an elf of your age would never raise their voice to an elder for many years yet." Elrohir came and knelt in front of the smaller elf. "Perhaps you are now old enough to have your own adventures, Mélanyë." He looked over to the dwarf. 

"You give me your word she will come back safe?"

"I would stake my honor on it!" Ferar said, beating his fist upon his breast. Elrohir sighed again.

"So be it, then." Dwarf and hobbit turned to leave, but Elrohir called out to her. "Mélanyë, wait a moment." She stopped and turned. He got up and, unhooking a small silver scabbard from his side, handed it to her. It was a dagger, wrought of shining steel with a white jewel set in the hilt. The blade was adorned with Tengwar script. "Take this, at least, so I will not worry." 

Mélanyë ran back to where she and Bilbo had made camp. She found him close by, laughing with Dwalin by one of the ponies as the dwarves made ready to depart. 

"Bilbo!" she cried as she pushed her way through the dwarves to her cousin. "Bilbo! Bilbo, I can go!"

"Why, that's wonderful, dear!" he greeted her with a hug as she ran up to him. "You'd best get yourself packed, the dwarves will be ready to leave by mid-morning!"

"So soon?" She had just assumed that they would be staying a few days before they left on their long journey.

"Of course!" said Dwalin, "The sooner we leave, the sooner we'll arrive! I have been away from home long, and would like to make the trip over the mountains soon." he looked at Bilbo. "I just hope it will not be as difficult as last time we tried that way!" He and Bilbo shared a hearty laugh.

"Yes, yes," Bilbo said after a moment, "what an adventure that was! If only we had Gandalf with us this time."

"Indeed," said Dwalin, "We could certainly use him on the trip over the mountains." Mélanyë took pause then. She hadn't thought of that. They have to cross the mountains! She looked east. The trees were tall and thick and the mountain peaks were hid from her, though she knew they were far into the distance. 

"Well go on, dear," Bilbo said, "You must get packed or Dwalin here will leave without you!" Feeling the excitement flooding back to her, she nodded and dashed off to pack her things. 

When she arrived she found Lindir waiting for her. He was sitting cross-legged on the grass, holding a small sword in his lap. He looked up as she came through the trees. 

"There you are!" he said with what sounded like fOrced cheerfulness. He smiled, but it did not reach his eyes. 

"Lindir?" She came and sat in front of him. He was looking at the sword. It was shorter than most blades, and finely wrought. The handle was of polished onyx set with emeralds and amethyst stones. The blade itself was leaf shaped and it shone as he turned it in his hands. A scabbard of shining black wood set with tiny gems lay on the ground at his feet.

"I want you to take this, Mel," he said. She shook her head and began to protest. 

"Lindir, no! This sword is like a friend to you...I could never take it!" He had made it himself, long before she was born. Laspis it was called, and the blade had a green hue in the sunlight, but seemed violet in the moonlight. He handed it to her.

"Take it," he said. "I'll feel better knowing that Laspis is looking out for you." She took the sword, and looked into his eyes. "Besides," he continued, "Your mother would never trust me again if she knew that I let her daughter go into the wild without a weapon!" They shared a laugh, but it did not ease the tension they both felt. They were silent for a few moments.

"Come with me," she said suddenly. "I'm sure Bilbo and the dwarves wouldn't mind, I'll-"

"Mélanyë!" He smiled at her, "This is your adventure, not mine!" He slid over beside her and hugged her. "You won't be gone for too long. You will probably have so much fun that you won't even miss me!" he said, grinning. 

"But I will," she said. In her excitement, she hadn't considered that she would be leaving her friends behind. The journey sounded truly exciting to her, but she only now realized that meant leaving her best friend. "I wish you would come," she said sadly. 

"I'm afraid I can't, Mel," he said. A smile crept over his face, "You know that Rivendell will fall apart without me." They laughed together, and he looked into her eyes. "That's better! Now hurry! The sun is climbing!" he pointed to the east, and sure enough, the sun began to peek over the treetops. Mélanyë leapt up from where she'd been sitting and began to pack her things. When she was done, she put on her grey cloak and strapped Laspis around her waist. 

"It feels a bit funny," she told him. Lindir didn't respond right away. He was looking at her, his friend he'd known since she was an infant, standing in front of him wearing a sword.

"We'll get used to it." he said.


	4. Chapter Four

Chapter Four: East to the Mountains

The sun was high overhead when the elves and dwarves went their separate ways. The elves had given what extra supplies they could spare to the travellers and bade them farewell. The dwarves had brought along an extra pony for Bilbo to ride, so Mélanyë was riding Shani alone. 

They rode through the forest on a path that Elrohir had shown them, that headed north-east. After a few hours they came to the edge of the forest and saw the wide grasslands in front of them. In the distance Mélanyë saw the shadowy peaks of the mountains. 

"It will take us only three days to reach them," said Ferar, "It usually takes longer, but it seems our ponies are as anxious to get home as we are!" Indeed, they had been riding at a swift pace, and now that they were in the open, the ponies were free to go faster, sometimes at an outright gallop. They seemed to be enjoying the bright sun and the fresh, cool day. 

Ferar, it seems had taken it upon himself to be Mélanyë's minder, whether by his oath to Elrohir, or because she was so young she didn't know. Still, she enjoyed his company on the long ride, as Bilbo spent most of the time riding with Dwalin and the elder dwarves catching up on old times.

"After we cross the plains, we'll be travelling over the High Pass," Ferar continued. "The Beornings are courteous enough, and keep the pass free of wolves and other dangers, but," he lowered his voice a little as if he were telling some big secret, "They are not overly fond of Dwarves." Mélanyë leaned over to him and responded in an equally secretive voice.

"Well perhaps they'll like Elves or Hobbits better!" Ferar erupted in laughter.

"I do doubt that!" he said. "Very few now adays trust the Elves except Elves themselves! And I'm not sure the Beornings have even heard of Hobbits...except of course for old Mr. Bilbo." At the mention of his name, she looked up ahead at her uncle. Even as she watched them, the hobbit and the dwarves around him began laughing heartily at some joke Dwalin had told. Smiling to herself, she thought of how happy she was to be finally going on an adventure of her own. She also knew how lucky she was. Having heard the stories of the long hatred between dwarves and elves, she had quickly realized that she was a minority among them. They didn't seem to notice, however, and had just accepted her as another hobbit, one of Bilbo's kin.

The evenings were quite different than she was used to with the elves. The dwarves liked to catch their dinner each night, and since the Beornings and the Dunedáin usually guarded the northern lands, they felt no fears at building large campfires and singing loudly far into the night. 

Bilbo and Mélanyë would spend the evenings together. She would sit by him and listen to the wondrous tales Dwalin would tell about kings and grand halls of stone, and of gold and jewels and the wealth beyond measure that their ancestors had once had. She would listen and watch the fire burning, until before she realized it was asleep on Bilbo's shoulder. Had she been awake, she would have thanked Bilbo for laying her sleeping form in bed each night. 

Near the beginning of the fourth day, they came at last to the High Pass. One of the Beornings was there near a small house that seemed to have been built specifically for the guarding of the path. He spotted the travellers as they approached and called out in a cheerful voice.

"Hi! What business, travellers?" He was large and strong. One of the largest people Mélanyë had ever seen. He smiled broadly as they slowed. 

"We are travelling over the mountains to the town of Dale and to the Lonely Mountain beyond!" said Dwalin. The guard nodded. 

"There is a toll for crossing the mountains here, Master Dwarf, since this path is protected by myself and my kin." He looked at each of them in turn, and looked at last on Bilbo, then at Mélanyë. You are not dwarves!" he said. 

"No, indeed!" said Bilbo. "We are Hobbits, from far west of here." Mélanyë felt a smile creep onto her face. _A hobbit,_ she thought, _I'm a hobbit..._

"Hobbit?" asked the Beorning, and thought for a moment. "Yes, I think I've heard mention of 'Hobbit's before, one of your kin passed this way many years ago, is that right?" Bilbo chuckled.

"Well, far be it for me to know about the doings of all my relatives," Bilbo replied, and she thought she saw him glance quickly in her direction, "But I believe that it is me you are referring to. I visited Beorn many years ago in his house near Carrock, just over the mountains."

"Yes, of course!" the Beorning exclaimed. "We know all about you...and your appetite!" They went on reminiscing for a few moments, then haggled over a price for the toll, which Dwalin thought had been raised considerably, just because they were dwarves. At last the travellers were underway. 

The path up the mountains was fairly easy going, since the Beornings had taken to its care in the past years. The top of the pass was blanketed with soft snow and became cold at night. The dwarves kindly lent spare blankets to the two hobbits to keep warm, since despite what Bilbo had said, he really had forgotten about the journey and wasn't at all prepared for a trip over snowy mountains. 

They arrived at the other side two days later without incident, and were greeted by another Beorning. He simply wished them well and thanked them for using 'their' passage across the mountains. Mélanyë thought she heard Gloin mutter something about the Beornings being happy to be using 'their' money, and laughed softly to herself.

The next day they set out towards Mirkwood. Ferar told Mélanyë that since the destruction of Smaug and the alliances in the Battle of Five Armies, the wood elves that lived in northern Mirkwood had become friendlier towards dwarves. 

"If we're lucky, we'll meet some of them on the way through." Ferar confessed he'd never met an elf before until their meeting in Trollshaw. Mélanyë was eager to arrive in the forest. She was enjoying her journey, of course, but it would be nice to be back among her 'kin', even if they were of a different realm. 

Bilbo had begun telling her again of the terrible time they'd had in the Elf King's lands. She reminded him that the elves had believed that the dwarves were attacking them, and Bilbo shrugged. "I'm sure you're right, dear, but that's just how the story goes." He then went on to tell of how they'd eventually become friends with the elves after the battle and so established peace. 

They passed over a bridge on the second day, and the forest was now very close. Bilbo had pointed out the spot where the eagles had rescued them from the wolves, and now as they rode by Carrock, he began to tell of their stay with Beorn. He was just getting to the part where Gandalf whistled for Thorin, when Mélanyë halted her pony. Bilbo, not noticing, had rode on a few paces before realizing that his audience had vanished. 

"What is it, dear?" he asked as he rode back. In the distance, she saw three black shapes skulking around the path in front of them. One of them looked up and spied the pack of dwarves and hungrily licked its lips.

"Over there...do you see them?" she pointed. Both Bilbo and Ferar exchanged glances. 

"See what, dear?" 

"Wolves! There are three wolves directly in front of us!" she said. The other dwarves began to murmur and some took out axes. Just then she saw one of the wolves break into a run, heading towards them. 

"They're coming!" she cried. The three wolves ran closer and closer until they came into the dwarves' range of sight.

"There they are!" shouted one of the younger dwarves. The wolves charged towards them as fast as they could go, growling at them as they went. Mélanyë trembled on her pony. She'd never been this close to danger before. She remembered the sword and dagger she carried and drew Laspis. It shone a faint green as the sun hit its polished blade. Beside her, Bilbo drew Sting. His elven blade, she saw, was about the same shape and size as her own. The two hobbits stayed behind the dwarves as they met the angry wolves. 

The first one never had a chance. It ran swiftly and purposefully towards Dwalin who swung at it with his axe. It fell, skidding to the ground. The other two were smarter and went for the ponies. One of them frightened Nori's pony and he was knocked to the ground. Immediately one of the other dwarves slew the hound, but sadly, Nori's pony was mortally wounded. He was fOrced to ride with Dori for the rest of the trip, much to his annoyance. 

The third wolf had skulked around behind the group as the dwarves were concerned with the second wolf. Mélanyë saw it though and she and Bilbo stabbed at it with their swords from where they sat on their ponies. The beast avoided their blows and stayed just out of range of their blades, but close enough to frighten the poor ponies. Ferar rode up behind the wolf and killed it before it could injure any more of their ponies. The battle was over. 

It took a great deal to calm all of the ponies so they would go on. Mélanyë/ spoke soothingly to Shani, who was the first to recover from the fright. After several hours, they were finally underway again and nearing the western edge of Mirkwood. 

When they entered, they soon found a path that seemed to cross the forest in a straight line, but it led further south than they intended to go. Not too far in they began to hear strange sounds, like voices.

"What is that...do you hear that?" Ferar asked Mélanyë. She was listening intently.

"Yes...they are elves' voices," she said. "They see us and are wondering where we are going."

"Well," Ferar said, and she thought he looked a little anxious, "You can tell them we're just passing through on our way to Dale." She did. Ferar looked at her with dismay. He obviously hadn't expected her to actually do that. 

Suddenly, out of nowhere, an elf appeared directly in their path. If the ponies hadn't seen him, they probably would have run into him.

"Welcome, travellers!" he said. "I am Cóume. I hear that you are heading to the town of Dale." The dwarves, after recovering from the shock of the elf's surprise appearance, each nodded their agreement. Cóume scanned the group with his bright eyes. They rested on Mélanyë.

"Ah! You must belong to the sweet voice we heard answer us through the trees." She felt herself blush at his words. He again addressed the dwarves. "Night will come soon. Perhaps you would enjoy an evening in the King's hall? He would be glad to offer you shelter." At once the dwarves heartily accepted the kind offer and were soon being led through the forest towards the realm of Thranduil, King of Northern Mirkwood.


	5. Chapter Five

Chapter Five: A Night in the King's Halls

Cóume led them on a narrow path through the woods towards the Northern Kingdom. Mélanyë felt excitement well up inside her as they drew near. The dwarves, however, seemed nervous and a little anxious as they followed the elf further into the forest. 

Sensing his agitation, Mélanyë whispered to Ferar. "What's wrong? I thought you wanted to meet elves."

"Well," he whispered back, as if he were afraid Cóume would overhear, "I do, it's just that most of us have never been so far into their realm before. And those that have were here as prisoners." Mélanyë laughed to herself.

"That was a long time ago," she said. "And besides, we've been invited by the King himself!" Dwalin, having overheard the two of them leaned in and spoke softly to them.

"We were 'invited' last time too." Ferar and Mélanyë exchanged glances as Dwalin rode away, chuckling softly.

After a few hours march, the company crossed a bridge over a lake of dark water. Bilbo, of course, pointed out that it was the very bridge they had crossed while he was invisible.

"It sure was lucky I had my little Ring with me," he said, "Or the dwarves might still be down in the Elf King's dungeons!" He was giggling merrily, but Mélanyë was silent and thoughtful.

"Bilbo, where is the Ring now?" she asked. Bilbo stopped laughing, and it seemed to her that he became very serious.

"Oh, I..." he trailed off. "I gave it to Frodo. It's for the best, I suppose, since Gandalf seemed to think it important I leave it behind." She nodded, and studied his face. Then, as quickly as it had come, the dark mood passed and he was smiling again. "Look, now! We're approaching the gates!"

Two stone pillars rose up on either side of the path and Cóume led them between them and into a great gate like a cave. There were guards all about and they nodded to the strangers but, like the dwarves, were wary of the visitors. 

They dismounted and left the ponies in the care of the guards. After being assured that their ponies would be well kept during their stay, the group shouldered their packs and followed Cóume to the gate.

The King's gate led into a great network of caves that were lined with many kinds of vines and ivy, and were lit with great tOrches. The air was sweet and fresh and smelled of flowers and clean earth. Every so often, the gems imbedded in the walls would sparkle in the tOrchlight. 

The travellers were shown to a large room where they were to sleep for the night. It was lit by yet more tOrches all around and had small alcoves carved into the walls to serve as beds. These were filled with soft blankets and hung with flowers. Mélanyë turned to Cóume.

"We were expected?" she asked in awe. He smiled. 

"Why do you think there were only three wolves that attacked you? Our archers spotted you long before you saw us." He knelt in front of her. "Your eyesight is keen, but not so much as an elf of Mirkwood." She felt herself blush slightly and turned away. 

The dwarves were very happy with their accommodations, but soon the thought of food was very much in their minds. Cóume stood and once again addressed the company. 

"If you are all settled, the King has requested your presence at the evening meal." he said. There were many loud agreements, and soon they were all filing towards the door. Mélanyë walked with Bilbo as they followed their host down the long glittering tunnel towards the King's Hall.

Long before they came near, they heard the music. The sweet Melody of the King's minstrels flowed down the corridor and met the visitors on their way towards the hall. They finally came through the large doorway into a vast chamber filled with elves dancing, singing and eating. In the center of the room was a large fire on a raised hearth that burned fierce and bright. To the side was a grand banquet table laden with many wonderful foods that filled the room with delicious smells. A group of musicians were playing their song to the King who was perched on his wooden throne against the northern wall. 

When the King caught sight of the guests, he silenced the musicians with a raised hand and all attentions were on him. Mélanyë saw that to the right of the King was younger elf who she thought must be the prince. Perched on a smaller seat in front of the throne was a slender dark haired elf holding a black harp.

"Welcome, travellers," The King spoke with a clear and powerful voice, "I am Thranduil, King of Northern Mirkwood. I hear that you have travelled a long way, and have still farther to go. I am pleased that you have accepted my offer for a night's rest in my halls. Please," he gestured to the table piled high with food, " join us for our evening meal, and for songs and dancing afterwards!" Dwalin approached the King and bowed.

"I am Dwalin son of Fundin, at your service and your family's. We graciously accept your invitation and thank you for your great kindness in offering us shelter." He bowed low, as did the rest of the company. Thranduil laughed.

"Dwarves bowing to elves! Who would believe it? But what's this?" he said seeing Bilbo and Mélanyë among them. "You are strange looking dwarves!" The two came forward and bowed. 

"I am Bilbo Baggins of the Shire, and this is-" He stopped as he was elbowed in the side.

"Mélanyë daughter of Ancalimë, of Rivendell," she said proudly. The King smiled.

"A hobbit, and an elf? But you are a little small to be an elf, are you not?" He looked to the elder dwarf. "What interesting companions you have, Dwalin! I see there will be no shortage of tales to be told. Come! Eat!" And with that the musicians resumed their song and all went back to their feasting. 

The dwarves all crowded around the banquet table and began loading up their plates with whatever was within reach. Mélanyë stayed back and surveyed the choices first. Bilbo stood beside her.

"I think we should let the dwarves pass through first before we attempt to get anything," he said with a chuckle. She nodded and grinned. The elf that had been sitting by the King approached the two hobbits.

"_Suilad_," he said, startling them. They jumped and turned around. "My name is Liofa*. I am the King's Harpist."

"Liofa!" Mélanyë whispered in awe. "We hear tales of your songs all the way in Rivendell!" The elf bowed slightly and she thought she saw a shy smile. 

"Thank you." He paused, and looked at the two in front of him. "I've never met a hobbit before," he said. 

"Well, now you have met two!" said Bilbo. Liofa looked to Mélanyë. 

"You are also a hobbit? But your mother was an elf."

"My father was a hobbit," she said. "Will you be playing tonight?" she asked eagerly, "They say none match your skill with the harp." Liofa was now most definitely blushing, but accepted the compliment.

"Yes, after the meal I will play." He motioned to the banquet table, now cleared of dwarves. "Would you like some company with dinner? I would love to hear about your journey."

The three ate and talked for hours together. Bilbo described the Shire to them in amazing detail, so much that the two elves could almost see it. He told about the last time he and the dwarves had come this way, and how they'd managed to escape in the wine barrels.

"We had wondered for some time how they were able to escape!" laughed Liofa. "We never suspected they had a little burglar with them." Liofa then asked Mélanyë about Rivendell. She described her home and spoke of Arwen Evenstar, and of Elrond HalfElven, her father. She then told them about her little bakery and of her friend Lindir. She fell silent then. She hadn't realized until then how much she missed him. 

After the meal was over, Liofa was summoned by the King to play for the guests. He sat on his seat in front of the throne with his polished black harp. Silence fell over all present. Liofa sat for a long time with his harp, as if preparing himself for his task. 

He struck a chord, and at once the hall was filled with music. Liofa closed his eyes and let the music flow from his fingertips. To Mélanyë each note sounded like a glittering jewel and the Melody washed over her creating visions of far away places. She saw in her mind cities of white and silver, the seven stars twinkling over the sea, hills, mountains, and vast forests lush and green. The tone slowly changed from happiness and joy to sadness and lamenting. Beside her, she heard Bilbo sigh softly as he listened. She moved closer to him and lay her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes, as he draped an arm around her. The music filled her every sense, until she felt she would drown in the sound. Her last thoughts before falling into peaceful dreams were of tall grey ships sailing away on an ocean she had never seen.

* _Liofa_ borrowed from Varda's _The Harpist's Tale_


	6. Chapter Six

Chapter Six: The Merry Town of Dale

The next morning Mélanyë woke in one of the small alcoves in the room the elves had given to them. The smell of flowers and the warm sunlight streaming in from a high window greeted her as she opened her eyes. In the back of her mind she could still hear strains of music from the night before and rolled over, hugging her pillow as if physically clinging to the memory. There was no drifting off for her, however, as Bilbo sat on the edge of her bed and had seen her eyes open.

"It's time to wake up, my dear!" he said cheerfully. She opened her eyes slowly and saw the hobbit bending over her. "You slept longer than any of us!" Finally admitting that sleep had left her, she yawned and stretched. 

"What is the time?"

"It's almost midday. You've missed both breakfasts!" She sat up and saw that they were alone. 

"Where are the dwarves?" she asked, looking past him to the empty room.

"They're all getting ready to leave," he said. "Dwalin wants to reach Dale by dinner time." She nodded, still shaking off the last remnants of sleep.

"Oh, Bilbo! I had the most wonderful dream!" she said. "I was floating in the sea looking up at the stars, and they were all dancing together with the music that was floating on the water. Then I was up with the stars, and I looked down and saw a beautiful city of silver and shining gems. It was so beautiful!" Bilbo smiled and stroked her cheek with his hand.

"Well, I'm afraid you'll have to wait until tonight to dance again with the stars. The dwarves are waiting for us to join them for lunch." He left her then, still lost in the memory of her dream. Shaking it off, she got up and dressed.

When at last she and Bilbo found the dwarves, lunch had already started. She found Ferar and sat next to him, with Bilbo on her other side. 

"You'd better hurry up and have some lunch," he said, "they're talking about leaving soon." Her and Bilbo helped themselves to the spread of bread, butter, honey, cheese and fruits that was laid out before them. Mélanyë felt like she hadn't eaten in weeks, and found herself eating more like a hobbit than an elf. 

After lunch was over with, the dwarves made ready to depart from the woods. As they were finishing the final packing, Liofa found Mélanyë. She bowed low and blushed, feeling honored that he would be looking for her.

"The tales do not do justice to your music, Liofa," she said. He smiled and placed a hand on her shoulder.

"I am glad you enjoyed it." He then looked thoughtfully into her eyes, and it seemed to her his smile faltered, but so quickly that she doubted she'd seen it. "It may be that you will face troubling times ahead. If you find yourself in despair, think of my song. It is said that music heals all wounds." She didn't quite understand his words, and indeed would not for many years, but she bowed politely and left to finish packing.

The company bade farewell to Thranduil and his people, and again headed east, this time in the proper direction towards Dale. After travelling most of the day along the Forest River they came upon the old town of Esgaroth. The lake town had been abandoned after the death of Smaug, and none of the dwarves would dare spend the night near the ruins. They plodded on along the River Running until at last they were far enough away that they could camp for the night. Dwalin was unhappy they hadn't reached Dale, but content that they were at least within sight of it. 

Thranduil had supplied the dwarves with fresh bread, fruit and cheese, so they had as merry a dinner as they could have on the elves' food. Mélanyë was exceedingly grateful for the supplies as the dwarves, being fond of meat, had little for the small elf to eat. She still had _lembas_ in her pack, however, in case she needed them. 

The next day the group was buzzing with excitement and arrived in Dale by noontime. The town was a grand cluster of wooden buildings nestled in between two of the furthest reaching roots of The Lonely Mountain that loomed above it. It was a busy town, filled with people and animals Mélanyë had never seen.

The Men of Dale greeted the dwarves warmly and they were all put up in an inn for the day. Mélanyë was in awe of all the new sights and people around her, but discovered that she was in fact very shy of strangers, especially these men who towered over her. Living among the elves, she was used to dealing with those taller than her, but for some reason these Men made her uneasy. She clung to Bilbo's arm as they were led through the town tour.

Bilbo was absolutely amazed at every part of the city. With each new thing they saw, he would explain to Mélanyë how none of it existed when he was there last, and by the end of the tour, she would recite with him, 'who would ever have thought it possible?' She smiled each time, but let him go on, knowing that this was the reason they had come. When night finally came, Mélanyë was exhausted, but the group had been invited to the local pub, 'Smaug's Bane' to listen to stories of the old days. Wearily, but still excited, she followed the others into the noisy, smokey house and sat at a table between Bilbo and Ferar. 

Many tales were told, and songs were sung, mostly of the downfall of Smaug and the rebuilding of Dale. One of the larger men was in a chair close to the middle of the room and his clothing set him apart from the others. She later learned that he was Brand the King of Dale, grandson of Bard, the slayer of Smaug. In his booming voice most of the tales were told, and he spoke often with Dwalin. 

Bilbo was friendlier with the Bardings than Mélanyë who was quite content to sit by him and listen to what was being said. One of the women came to the table carrying large mugs filled with a dark brew. She set one down in front of each of them, gave Mélanyë a curious look, and left to tend to the other patrons. Mélanyë, being left alone for the moment, as Ferar and Bilbo were both engaged in conversations, investigated the liquid. 

With her small hands she drew the mug towards her and smelled its contents. It smelled sweet, but at the same time bitter. Looking around somewhat self-consciously, she tipped the mug and sipped. She immediately coughed and a violent shiver ran through her as she tasted the bitter liquid. Glancing around nervously, she saw that no one appeared to have noticed her reaction. Beside her she saw Ferar take a deep draught from his mug and set it down again. She looked back to her own. Closing her eyes tightly, she grasped the mug in both hands and drank as Ferar had done. She set the mug back down and let out a little cough. Bilbo looked at her with a grin.

"Are you all right, my dear?" he asked. She smiled, eyes watering and choked out her answer.

"It's good." Bilbo laughed and clapped her on the shoulder, taking a long sip of his own mug. 

"I'm sure it's not what you're used to, living with elves and all, but it is a fine brew!" Actually, she had never had ale in Rivendell, being accustomed to the sweet wine that was more common among the elves. Still, since she was in a new place, exploring new cultures and peoples of Arda, she decided that she should explore the new foods as well. 

"It's not bad," she said sheepishly.

They spent two days in Dale, enjoying the hospitality of the natives, but soon Dwalin began to look longingly to the mountain. They at last set out towards The Lonely Mountain early on the third day. They arrived at the front gates just before sundown and were greeted by many dwarves, overjoyed to see their friends return.


	7. Chapter Seven

Chapter Seven: The Lonely Mountain

"Gimli, my boy!" Gloin greeted his son with a great hug. Gimli welcomed his father warmly.

"Welcome home, Father!" He helped Gloin with his pony and started to unpack his things. Then he saw Bilbo and Mélanyë approaching. He froze. _'Jolonna,*' _he whispered. As she neared, however, he saw that it was not her and quickly turned to his task before anyone saw the mist in his eyes. Gloin had seen it though, and leaned in close to his son.

"She is from Rivendell, my son, and one of Bilbo's kin." He caught his son's gaze and held it. "You will show her every courtesy." Gimli wrenched his eyes away and stalked off with his father's things, muttering to himself. Just then Mélanyë walked up behind Gloin.

"What was that all about? Is he upset?" Her soft voice indeed reminded the old dwarf of fair Jolonna and he found himself blinking back tears of his own. He squinted at her and forced a smile.

"Oh, don't worry about him. Gimli's just...not very fond of elves." Mélanyë frowned. She had forgotten that some dwarves and elves still had great hatred for each other. She had grown accustomed to the kind dwarves she'd been travelling with, but realized that these new dwarves didn't know her. She looked back to where Gimli had gone and felt suddenly lost and alone. Then, in the back of her mind, a memory stirred. _Gimli, _she thought, _I know that name...I've heard it before..._

"The Lonely Mountain!" Bilbo exclaimed. "And to think, we used to fear these gates!" She smiled at him, but looked again to where Gimli had gone, trying desperately to remember why his name was so familiar. She forced herself to get back to unloading the ponies, however, and put off the thought for another time.

The ponies were led to a stable just inside the front door, and the travellers followed Dwalin inside the mountain. The walls were decorated with gold and silver and all sorts of gems, displaying the wealth of the King in great splendor. Every crevice glimmered and shone as they passed and many great caverns opened off to each side of the huge hallway into other parts of the underground city. Mélanyë was in awe of the beauty of the architecture, and as they travelled deeper, Ferar explained where each hall went, what each room was, and the history behind them. Bilbo walked in silence, but she saw plainly on his face the same wonder and amazement that she herself felt. 

At last they entered a great hall in what she guessed was the center of the mountain. Rooms and hallways beyond count fed into it and the whole cavern was buzzing with dwarves going about their daily business. There were merchants and smithies and craftsmen working their trades, and families bustling around each of them, haggling over prices and chasing after lost children. Dwalin smiled at the display, and Bilbo's jaw dropped. 

"Remember when we had fled through here from Smaug?" he asked the hobbit. Bilbo nodded.

"Oh, Dwalin, it's amazing! I hardly recognize it as the same place! You dwarves have certainly been busy these past years!" They all stood, admiring the scene before them until Dwalin finally broke the mood.

"Come, my friends!" he said, motioning to another tunnel to their right, "I will show you to your rooms!" He led the two hobbits down the new passage, as the other dwarves wandered off to find their families. Ferar caught Mélanyë's arm before he left.

"I'll find you two later at the feast tonight," he said. Mélanyë nodded, too excited to be disappointed at his leaving. 

Dwalin led the two to a room at the end of a winding tunnel. It was a very large room with two beds carved into the walls in the same manner as they had seen in Mirkwood. Mélanyë was not surprised, as Ferar had already explained that the Elf King's halls had been built by dwarves long ago. Dwalin let them settle in, and then took them on a very long, very thorough tour of the mountain. He showed them every little thing the dwarves had done to bring the mountain halls back to their past glory, and in many cases, exceeded the original craftsmanship. All the walls were carved and inlaid with gold and silver and precious gems that glittered in the torchlight. Large rooms with ceilings so high as to be almost out of sight, huge pillars the size of trees, and almost every wall was engraved with runes describing the great toil in bringing the halls back from ruin. 

When the time came for the feast, they had seen only a small portion of the many halls and rooms. They were at last lead into the most ornate halls in the whole mountain, the ones belonging to Dain the King. The wealth shown on the walls and displayed on various pedestals and wall hangings was astounding. The hobbits barely spoke, they were too engrossed in simply looking around and absorbing the sights around them. 

Dain sat on his throne of stone inlaid with gold and gems, and rose when the two were led before him. He was a kindly dwarf, young, but flecks of grey were beginning to streak his thick black beard. 

"Ah, at last!" he said in a gruff voice. "You must be Bilbo. Welcome to my halls!" He looked to Mélanyë. "But who is this?" he said.

"This is Mélanyë, one of my kin," said Bilbo. "I invited her to come with me to see your city." Dain laughed heartily.

"And what do you think of it, young elf?" he said. "Yes, indeed I see you are an elf, but don't worry," he stepped down from the dais and stood in front of her. They were nearly the same height. "I have been a friend of Thranduil's for many years." He looked her over. "You don't look like one of his folk."

"I am from Rivendell, my lord," she said. He nodded.

"Ah! The realm of Master Elrond. Indeed, you are welcome here!" He leaned in until they were eye to eye. "And if anyone gives you trouble, just send them to me!" He chuckled and climbed back up on his throne.

"Well," he said sharply, "there will be much feasting tonight! Come my friends, let us go to my halls!" With that they were whisked away and brought into a grand hall filled with dwarves. It seemed that the feast had already begun, and Mélanyë saw, with some apprehension, many different meats spread out on the tables along with other, more palatable foods. There was loud music and much laughing and talking. 

The hobbits were greeted warmly by the throng and a loud cheer rose at the arrival of the King. There was another throne in this room, but it didn't get used. Dain mingled with the others and ate and drank as heartily as any other dwarf. Mélanyë felt a whole new kind of excitement at the atmosphere. The party in the elven kingdom was merry indeed, but a party among dwarves was something different altogether. Several great fires lit the halls and the gold and copper trimmings on the walls shone all around. The rock walls seemed to dance with jewels and they dazzled her eyes. 

She was suddenly caught up in a group of dwarves whom, she guessed, were women. They were dancing in a great circle that had expanded so far that she was now in the middle of them. Not quite sure what to do, Mélanyë tried to mimic the others' movements as best she could, until finally she was dancing with them and even singing along with the music, though she didn't speak a word of Dwarvish. When the song ended, the circle broke up and many of the women clapped or hugged. The one closest to Mélanyë hugged her and thanked her for joining the group. Still caught up in the excitement, all she could do was smile and shake the woman's hands. 

A hand grasped her arm and she turned. "Ferar!" she cried over the music that had since started up again. 

"Are you having fun, Mel?" he asked. She paused and felt her smile fade. _Mel,_ she thought, _Lindir calls me Mel._ She suddenly missed him again. She noticed Ferar staring at her and forced the smile back on her face.

"Yes, this is all very exciting," she said, looking around them at the crowded room. She realized that she'd lost Bilbo in all the dancing and began to search for him.

"He's over at the table in the middle," Ferar said, pointing, "getting some food." She smiled, thinking that very hobbitish of him. Ferar took her hand and lead her through the crowd to her uncle. He smiled as she approached.

"Ah, Mélanyë!" he said. "The food here is excellent! You really should try the-" he stopped himself and grimaced, "bacon. That's right, you don't eat meat, do you?" She smiled and shook her head. 

Her gaze was drawn to a corner of the room where she saw a rather forlorn dwarf sitting alone. It was Gimli. As she looked to him she saw that he'd been staring at her, but then quickly averted his eyes and stared into his ale. She told Bilbo she was going to find some food and made her way over to the dwarf. 

He looked up as she approached and quickly looked away, sliding further into his seat away from her. She put stretched out hand in friendship.

"Gimli," she said. He looked up, but wouldn't meet her eyes. "Her name was Jolonna, wasn't it?" This time he did meet her eyes. He looked surprised, and maybe a bit frightened. 

"How did you-" he began as she sat down across from him.

"We were friends," she said. "I was very young at the time, but we were friends. I remember-" she looked down at her hands. "When they brought her...She kept calling for you." She met his eyes again. "I was trying to remember how I knew your name. She spoke often of you before she-" Mélanyë fell silent, leaving the sentence unfinished. A long silence stretched between them. Mel got up to leave, but Gimli covered her hand with his.

"Please stay," he said. She sat back down and they sat together in silence for a little while longer. "Did she suffer?" he asked finally, his voice breaking.

"No," she said. "Elvish medicine is- no, she didn't." More silence. 

"I never told anyone about her," he said finally. "Except my father, of course, but," he met her eyes again. "It's nice to have someone to talk to." She could see a thin tracing of tears on his cheeks and felt her heart break. She placed her other hand on his.

"Gimli, I'm sorry," she whispered. They talked for hours, Gimli telling her of Jolonna and how Balin was to wed her, and how he fell in love with her instead. She listened with quiet sympathy, comforting him as best she could. The party was still going on around them, but they didn't seem to notice. They were still sitting together when the music died down and most of the families had gone home. Bilbo came over after a while and said he was going back to their room.

"Are you coming?" he asked, "It's not easy to find your way back in these tunnels."

"I'll take her back," said Gimli. "If you want to stay, that is."

"Thank you, Gimli," she said, smiling. "I'll see you later, Bilbo." The two hobbits hugged, and then he left with Ferar. After they watched them go, they got up to get some of what was left of the food and sat back down.

"You're only half an elf too?" he said. She nodded, nibbling on a pastry.

"My father was a hobbit. Jolonna and I became friends because we both felt like outsiders...like we didn't really belong with the elves." She saw his sympathetic expression and quickly clarified. "We were welcome, of course. It's just that we weren't _elves_. We're half...different, but still a part of them." Gimli nodded.

"Like she was a dwarf, but always an elf as well."

"Yes, exactly!" She started on a strawberry. "I only knew her for a few months. We met just before she left to see you. I was sad to see her go."

"Me too," Gimli said softly.

After they'd finished their food, they called it a night. They began walking towards the tunnels that led to her room, but he stopped.

"Wait! I want you to wait right here," he said suddenly. She was a little surprised, but said she would wait. He dashed off down a tunnel, and reappeared a few minutes later. In his large hand, he produced a small silver ring. She looked at it, and then back at him.

"Take it," he said. She picked it up, and looked at it in wonder. It was polished silver, with a sparkling amethyst set between two leaves. "I was saving it for her," he said as she watched the gem sparkle. "It was part of the original treasure that my father received from Smaug's horde. It's far too delicate for any dwarf to wear, so I thought it should go to an elf."

"Oh Gimli," she whispered. "I can't take this, it's..." He closed her hand around the small ring.

"I want you to take it. It's the closest I'll have to giving it to her." Unable to contain herself any longer, she wrapped her arms around him and squeezed tightly. He hugged her back, and she thought she heard him sniffling. He let her go and led her down the halls to her room. 

* _Jolonna_ borrowed from Samwisegirl's _A Long Lost Love (can be found on my website)_


	8. Chapter Eight

Chapter Eight: The Road Home

Bilbo and Mélanyë stayed for two weeks with the dwarves in the Lonely Mountain. There were feasts and parties almost every day and the dwarves kept their guests busy with tales, songs, games and questions. Many asked Mélanyë about Rivendell and of elves, and Bilbo was asked about the Shire and all of his relatives. 

Mélanyë spent a lot of the time with Gimli, and they became good friends. Ferar also took up much of her time and so the three would often do things together. The two dwarves kept her busy, but she still had time to miss her home. She was beginning to long for Rivendell, and was now missing Lindir terribly. Her mother was often on her mind as well, seeing all the dwarf families. She knew that she wouldn't be there when she got home, but thought that being where they had lived together would be enough. 

At last she spoke to Bilbo and told him that it was time to head home. He wished they could stay longer, but said she was right. It was time.

The dwarves were very sad to see them go, and Ferar volunteered to take the hobbits as far as the borders of Mirkwood. "I would go farther, but I would feel strange going through the elf kingdom on my own," he said. Mélanyë gave Gimli a tight hug, promising to visit again. 

"Or maybe you could come to Rivendell," she suggested. Gimli shook his head sadly.

"No, I- I don't think so," he said. "I wouldn't feel right there."

Bilbo said farewell to Dwalin and the others that had travelled with them for so long. There were many 'thank you's and 'we'll miss you's from them as the three rode away on their ponies. 

They set out early and rode on at a steady pace, making it to Dale just before dinnertime. They stayed the night there at 'Smaug's Bane', and got another early start the next morning. They rode along the River Running to the eaves of Mirkwood back the way they had come. Just inside the forest, they met a group of wood elves. Mélanyë recognized their leader immediately.

"Cóume!" she cried. He was just inside the forest, seemingly on the lookout. He spotted them and jumped down from the tree he'd been standing in. The three travellers reached the edge of the forest and halted.

"_Suilad, Mélanyë Ancalimëiel,"_ he said. She nodded with a wide smile. "Travelling home? You can stay with us tonight," he offered, "and tomorrow we will take you to the western borders." Mélanyë and Bilbo quickly agreed. Mélanyë looked sadly to Ferar, knowing that the time had come for him to leave them. He smiled encouragingly.

"Well, I guess I'll see you later," he said, trying to sound cheerful. 

"Come visit Rivendell sometime," she said as she hugged him tight. Bilbo shook the dwarf's hand, and the two hobbits watched him ride back the way they'd come. When they could no longer see him in the distance, they turned back to the elves. 

Cóume led the hobbits into the forest to where his scouts had camped. The sky soon darkened and they had a bright fire burning in the middle of their camp. They sat in a wide circle, singing and telling tales of the elves of old. Bilbo was particularly interested in these, and Mélanyë saw him take hasty notes on a small book of paper that she'd only just noticed he had with him.

"You can write Elvish?" she asked in wonder. Bilbo smiled secretively and winked at her.

"There's more to hobbits than even we ourselves know," he said. He pointed to the elves around them with his pen. "The songs are so beautiful I just had to write them down. I'll translate them later."

Many more songs followed, and Mélanyë sang along with the ones she knew. Beside her she noticed Bilbo's eyes begin drooping and prodded him awake with her elbow. His head shot up and eyes flew open.

"Wha-what did I miss?" He looked down and saw that he had stopped writing in the middle of a song some time ago and that it had long since finished. He sighed. "Now I'll never remember the words," he lamented. Mélanyë leaned over and whispered to him.

"Don't worry! We sing that one often in the Hall of Fire."

"What's that?" She smiled wanly, remembering the beautiful hall.

"It's where we gather to sing," she explained. "Elrond and his daughter Arwen Undomiel often go there too. She has the most beautiful voice..." she trailed off. Memories of long days sitting around the blazing hearth singing with her mother came flooding back to her. Her face fell. "My mother had a beautiful voice too," she whispered, but Bilbo didn't hear. She stayed quiet for the rest of the night, feeling the full weight of her grief. In all the excitement with Bilbo and the Dwarves, she hadn't had time too feel the loss of her mother. She knew that she was safe in Valinor, but the fact that she was there and not here with her caused a great sadness in her heart. Bilbo sensed her mood and put his arm around her, mistaking her depression for homesickness. 

"Don't worry, dear," he said. "We'll be there soon enough. We have only to cross the mountains." The Mountains! The thought only added to her despair. She remembered the cold journey with little happiness, save the fact that she had been with her friends. She was suddenly uneasy, thinking of her and Bilbo attempting to make the journey on their own. It wasn't a difficult pass, but it was still long and cold. She wondered anxiously how they would do it.

The next morning was cool and dim and a thick fog lay low to the ground. Cóume led them through the woods on an old elf-path that led straight through the forest. Mélanyë was surprised to be standing on the other side of the forest as the sun just began sinking towards the mountains. She looked to the elf as he pointed ahead. 

"There's a path there that leads up to the Beornings' post." He looked down at her. "You should spend the night here and then head to the mountains in the morning."

"You're not staying with us?" she asked in alarm. He smiled at her.

"I do have borders to defend, young one," he said. "You'll be safe enough here. There aren't any dangerous beasts in this part of the woods, and the land beyond is patrolled by the Beornings and the Dunedain." Her face fell as he spoke. She was leaving behind all her new friends as she came closer to home.

"I'll miss you," she said. He flashed her a bright smile.

"We'll see each other again," he said. "Don't worry about that!" He helped them set up their camp before leaving the two hobbits for the night. 

They had a merry fire going and the two stayed up half the night talking about all that had happened, recalling their adventure. 

"I am looking forward to seeing Rivendell," he said as they lay near the fire after supper. "From what you've described it sounds magnificent!" She smiled sleepily. It was getting very late, but the old hobbit was so excited that he kept talking long after she'd stopped responding. 

"Although, I do miss Frodo," he said, more softly, staring into the dying embers. He looked over and saw Mélanyë's face glowing in the dim light. He knew she was asleep, of course, but he continued to talk as a sort of comfort to himself.

"I've never been away from him this long since before he came to live with me. I hope you will get to know him...he has such a sweet spirit. You remind me of him sometimes. A lot, actually. Even now- well, you're sleeping, but you still make me think of him." He wiped a tear from the corner of his eye and smiled as he saw her stir in her sleep. He watched her for a few more minutes before laying down and closing his own eyes.

The next morning the two hobbits set out fairly early. They both wanted to get over the mountain as quickly as possible and home to Rivendell. They had been riding for a few hours when Mélanyë saw a dark shape up ahead and halted. 

"What is it?" Bilbo asked, recalling the last time she'd halted her pony. He drew nearer to her and tried to see what she was looking at. Her eyes flashed deep amber as they scanned the horizon. She saw clearly now, one dark shape in the distance. A man, but he seemed to be running away from them. She caught a flash of his face as he looked behind him and felt joy rise in her heart.

"_Ai! Dunadan!_" she cried. The figure stopped and looked. She saw very clearly now that it was her friend the Dunedan. He saw her and began heading for them. She and Bilbo rode to meet him.

"What's a Dunedan?" Bilbo asked. She smiled.

"A Ranger of the North...they protect the lands from fell creatures." she pointed at the man as they approached. "Aragorn often comes to Rivendell." She leaned in close to her Uncle. "I hear that Arwen has something to do with it." Bilbo grinned and nodded knowingly. The two looked up as Aragorn neared.

"_Mae Govannen, Aragorn!_" she said. 

"You're a long way from Rivendell, aren't you Mélanyë?" he asked with a smile. He looked to Bilbo. "And you...a halfling this far out?"

"We were travelling with the Dwarves of the Lonely Mountain," she said. "Bilbo and I were visiting, but now we're riding home." Aragorn nodded.

"Well, would you like some company? I am also on my way to Rivendell, so I'd be glad to take you the rest of the way." She quickly agreed and the Ranger found himself being hugged by two hobbits.

He led them to the Beorning who guarded the Pass over the mountains, and Mélanyë was surprised to see him wave them through without a toll.

"I'm good friends with the Beornings," he said with a grin. 

The trip back over the mountain was much faster with only three, and they were on the other side after only a day and a half. The time was not wasted, however, since the two halflings had a new audience to tell their adventures to. He listened with interest as they told their tales. He in turn told them a few about what was happening in other lands. They listened with particular interest for news of the Shire, but Aragorn hadn't been in the west for some weeks. "I'll be heading that way when I leave the House of Elrond," he said.

They arrived at the Gates of Rivendell early in the morning on the third day, and a great many were there to welcome them. Many crowded around Bilbo, and Elrond gave him a formal welcome to his house. Mélanyë saw off to the side, Arwen greeting Aragorn. They stood close together and he took her hands and kissed them. The two then turned and left, passing out of her line of sight. Elrohir stepped in front of Mélanyë and nodded to her with a smile. 

"You're safe," he said. She unstrapped his dagger and handed it back to him.

"Thank you." He took it and hugged her. As he left she saw Lindir in the crowd and ran over to him, enveloping him in a hug. She clung to him and he held her tight. He kissed her cheek and whispered to her. 

"Welcome home."


	9. Chapter Nine

Chapter Nine: Of House and Home

After helping Bilbo settle into life in Rivendell, and a good long rest, Mélanyë finally went back to her normal routine; or would have, save that her 'normal' routine had always included her mother. She tried very hard to move on and begin a new life without her, but she still found herself expecting to find her around a corner, or in her favorite spot in the Hall of Fire. 

Bilbo, of course, made a valiant effort to fill the void her mother had left and he did keep her happy, but there was always the constant reminder of what she no longer had. She realized one day that it was her house. She and her mother had lived there for as long as she could remember, and everything in it reminded her of her loss. It was Bilbo who suggested that she should move.

She chose a room near Bilbo's in the wing of the main house where visitors usually stayed. He helped her, and when they were finished she had a grand party that went on far into the night. The new surroundings did help, and Bilbo noticed that the air of depression had left her. 

She at last went back to her bakery, where she had worked happily ever since she was old enough to reach the counters. She found her friend Norin there working away and greeted her with a hug. When they parted Mélanyë grinned as she saw that her friend had left a streak of cocoa on the front of her robes. She looked to Norin with mock seriousness.

"I see that everything has been kept in order." Norin bit back a smile and saluted, clicking her heels together.

"Yes, ma'am, oh captain of baked goods!" The two erupted in laughter. "So you finally come back to work! You know, Elrond had sorely missed your cookies!" She smiled at her friend. Mélanyë began to inspect her bakery, touching all her old tools and mixing bowls. 

"Well, I'll be sure to make a big batch just for him," she said over her shoulder. She picked up a cookie cutter and sighed. "I may have to re-learn all of this," she said. Norin laughed, but she had been serious. She had been away for so long that her bakery seemed a mystery to her now. It was like meeting up with a friend that she hadn't seen in years. She felt Norin's hand on her shoulder. 

"Should I teach you," she said evenly, "or do you still remember how to crack an egg?" A slow smile spread across the hobbit's face and she gave her friend a playful whack on the arm.

Mélanyë and Bilbo soon slipped into a routine, spending much of their time together. Bilbo's first visit to the Hall of Fire ended with him being carried off to bed in a sleeping bundle. He soon got used to all the singing, and began composing songs of his own. He also began writing his book, which he showed to her one night as if her was revealing a deep secret.

"It's all about my adventure," he said with barely contained excitement. He looked anxiously over her shoulder as she flipped through the carefully written pages. About halfway through they went blank. She looked up at Bilbo.

"Well, it's not quite finished," he said. In the back of the book were some lose sheets scrawled with songs and poems he had heard in the Hall of Fire, and while they had travelled. Some were translated into common speech but many were in Elvish.

"I can help you with these," she offered, holding up a page filled with the flowing script. 

"Oh, I would be so grateful if you did," he said, "I can write them down, but it's so hard to translate properly. I can never get the full meaning of the words when I do it." She closed the book and hugged him.

"I'd be happy to help"

Aragorn visited often, bringing news of the lands about Rivendell and of the Shire, which was of particular interest to the hobbits. Mélanyë thought she guessed the reason for his frequent visits, but kept it to herself. She never told anyone, but she had once spied a quiet moment between him and Arwen through her bakery window. 

She had been kneading dough when she looked up and saw them by the fountain in the gardens below. They sat close together and she saw Aragorn take her hands and kiss her. Mélanyë had stopped her work when she saw them and was now leaning on her table head in hands, watching the scene below. She sighed longingly, thinking of what it must be like to have someone like Aragorn. She was still young yet, but she felt that she would never fall in love as they had. She loved many, of course, but not as Aragorn and Arwen loved each other. 

She hastily went back to her work as she heard the bakery door open. She looked up expecting to see Norin standing beside her, but instead she saw Lindir. He grinned at her.

"What?" she asked nervously. Lindir approached her and with his thumb he wiped away the flour from her face.

"Staring out the window again?" he said. She blushed and turned hastily to the window, noting with relief that Aragorn and Arwen had left. Lindir leaned against the wall in front of her.

"Gandalf is telling stories of hobbits again," he said. He pointed to the dough on her table. "Are you sure this can't wait? They're very funny- you're missing out." She chuckled. Gandalf had also visited often since they'd been back. He was well known in Rivendell for his wisdom- and his stories. She hastily crammed the dough into a loaf pan and, wiping her hands on her apron she followed Lindir out the door. 

The years passed, each just as the one before. As time went on, however, things began to happen: Gandalf and Aragorn's visits became less frequent, the summers seemed to grow less bright and cheerful, and it seemed to her that Elrond had grown troubled. Mélanyë also noticed that Bilbo began to age. Very gradually, but steadily. She noticed one day that he would have trouble standing if he had been sitting for a long time. Someone else noticed too, and for his birthday he was presented with a beautifully carved walking stick. 

Mélanyë spent as much of her time as she could with Bilbo, for in the back of her mind she knew that his time was ending. She spoke with Lindir about it, and he assured her that it was the way of things, and that all mortals must pass on. It didn't ease her sorrow in watching her dear uncle age so quickly, but it did give her comfort. Still, it seemed that he had lots of life in him yet, and after all, he wasn't about to go without finishing his book. 

One night in Bilbo's study he showed it to her again. As she flipped through its pages for a second time she saw that he has added drawings, along with a detailed map of the Shire. She smiled remembering the beautiful green hills and the party under the Tree. Her thoughts then went to Frodo, and what must be going on in the Shire. She wished she could visit, but couldn't bear to leave Bilbo alone. She looked over at him in his chair by the fire, and saw that he had drifted off while she was studying his map. 

She got up and gently replaced the book on the table. She went to leave, but turned back and looked at him. The firelight danced on her uncle's aged face and smoothed away many of the lines that had so gradually appeared since she'd known him. It seemed to her that in his peaceful sleep he looked as young as he was when they'd met. Of course she saw that his hair was now white instead of the dusty brown it had been, and his skin was lighter and more delicate, but just for a moment, she saw him as he was years ago. 

A small thin tear traced a line down her cheek as she realized that he would never be able to go on any more adventures. He could never again take her to see dwarves, or to go for long walks and camping trips in the forests. She realized now what it meant to be a mortal, and also that the woe of the Eldar was to watch as their friends among them pass on while they are left with their memory. She placed a soft kiss on her uncle's forehead before leaving him to his peaceful dreams. 


	10. Chapter Ten

Chapter Ten: Family

It was just before dusk on October twentieth (by Shire reckoning, as Bilbo had taught her), and Mélanyë was just pulling a batch of honey-cakes from the oven when the commotion began. She looked out of her window and saw Arwen Undomiel gliding in on Asfaloth, carrying a dark green bundle in her arms. As she watched, she saw that the bundle had legs and large hairy feet. Immediately her stomach tightened and her body fell numb.

Arwen was crying. The tears flowed freely down her flawless face onto her robes. Elrond appeared and moved swiftly and gracefully towards his daughter. He gently relieved her of her burden, their eyes meeting with shared sorrow. Mélanyë now saw plainly that the bundle contained a very sick hobbit. She fancied she saw a brief glint of gold on his tunic as he was being carried away. Elrond took him inside and out of her view. Barely aware of her movements, she ripped off her apron and flew down the stairs, crossing the short distance through the courtyard towards Arwen still standing in the center.

"Arwen..." she began. The elf looked down at the young girl. Her face was wet with tears, and glowed with the late-setting sun. 

"Mélanyë," she said, as if from far away, "You should go to him...he will need you."

Mélanyë barely heard the words. She knew immediately who it was that Elrond had taken from her. It hit her almost as a physical blow.

"Frodo," she whispered. Before she realized what she was doing, she was already halfway up the stairs inside the main house, searching for the room Elrond had entered. She found them on the west side of the hall across from her room. It was softly lit by candles all around. 

Frodo lay still and cold as death in the small bed, his wound now plainly exposed as Elrond chanted in the Fair Speech, commanding the hobbit to return to the light. Other elves were around the room watching and waiting to be called on for any need of Elrond's. She noticed with unease that two of them were armed.

Mélanyë entered quietly and stood against the nearest wall as she watched. Her heart ached at the sight of her brother, in obvious pain, with a sickly hue in his face. Elrond's treatment had half-wakened him from his fell dreams, and he turned his head in her direction. Once-bright blue eyes, now clouded over with pain and sickness, stared right into hers. He tried to speak, but all that came out was a hoarse cry like a shriek. Elrond raised the tone and level of his voice as he commanded the poison to leave his patient. Frodo's face twisted in pain as herbs were applied by one of the other Elves. At last, Elrond stood up, a defeated look in his eyes. 

"It's not working," he said in Elvish. Hot tears sprang up in Mélanyë's eyes at his words. "The Ring is preventing him from recovering. Its power is interfering with my words..." He turned around and only then saw Mélanyë behind him. Mélanyë," he said, a sudden sense of urgency in his normally calm and even tone. His expression was like a sudden ray of sun in a cloudy sky. "You must take the Ring from him- I cannot touch it." She looked up at him in confusion, not sure what he was talking about or what this had to do with her. Was this the same Ring that Bilbo had talked so long about? "You are his closest kin, and so it is your place to relieve him of his burden."

"What about Bilbo? It was his-"

"NO!" Elrond's tone was sharp and dreadful. Mélanyë stepped back into the wall. "No," he said again, softer, "he must never see the Thing again. Do not let him know you have it, for I fear it may be too much for him to see it again." 

Mélanyë stared at Elrond, it seemed, for the first time. This was different person than the Elrond she thought she knew. She still did not understand what was going on, but she sensed that time was running out. She approached Frodo's side. In his sickness, he looked up at her, but she knew that he didn't see her. She saw the Ring laying on his chest, attached to a silver chain. Gingerly she reached out to touch it and unfastened the clasp, lifting the Ring from his chest. It was heavier than it looked, and it glinted in the candlelight. 

His reaction was sudden and violent. Lunging at her, teeth bared and growling, he groped blindly for the Ring. His right hand caught the chain, and it snapped under the strain. Terrified, she clutched the Ring tight and jumped back, even as Elrond held Frodo down. He continued to fight, however, in a weak attempt to throttle whoever had taken his Ring. 

"_Moruta! Moruta!_" Elrond cried. Mélanyë closed her hand around the Ring. It burned her skin. Almost immediately Frodo stopped struggling and slipped back into his dark dreams. Mélanyë turned around, and saw with horror that two of the elves behind her had their bows trained on Frodo. Sensing that the danger had passed, they lowered them. 

Even as Elrond continued his urgent attempts to heal Frodo, she opened her hand. Just a simple gold Ring it looked to her, but she knew now that it was much more than it appeared. She studied the broken chain in her hands and wondered what sort of power she now carried.

For two hours Mélanyë sat, head in hands, watching Elrond tend to her sick brother. Bilbo had heard about what was going on and had a seat next to her. They had talked quietly at first, but now were just content to sit together and comfort each other. 

She had hung the Ring around her neck on a new chain. The same one her and Frodo's father had given to her mother years ago. She now held the pendant with the broken chain in her hands and stroked it thoughtfully.

"My dear, what happened to your necklace?" Bilbo asked. She felt her heart skip a beat. She couldn't tell him what had happened, but couldn't bear to lie about it either. 

"Frodo caught it in his sleep and broke it," she said carefully. The Ring was hiding safely under her robes. She was suddenly aware of it as a weight, pulling on the chain, hoping to become visible to its former bearer. Indeed, Bilbo seemed to have changed. He stared long at the broken chain in her hand as if he doubted her words, but then as quickly as it had come, the moment passed.

"What a shame. You'll have to find another one soon. You can't risk losing such a precious heirloom." She started at his words, but did not know why. He gave one last look to the broken chain, and then looked to the door. It opened softly and the two saw a familiar and most welcome face. 

"_Mithrandir!_" she whispered, smiling faintly. The old wizard made his way over to Elrond who was still chanting, bent over the unconscious hobbit. The two spoke in hushed tones, but she could hear what they were saying clear enough. All but two of the other elves had left an hour ago, so the room was quiet. A quick glance at Frodo revealed that the two hours had not been in vain- he did seem to be responding to the treatments. 

"How is he?" Gandalf asked worriedly. He seemed an old man, wearied by some burden. His robes were tattered and muddied, and he was without his staff. Mélanyë wondered with apprehension what had happened to him. What evil was upon them that the Grey Pilgrim himself had become so distressed?

"He is accepting treatment, but," Elrond paused, "he almost didn't make it. Another hour, maybe two and he would not have survived." He motioned to the two remaining elves standing nearby still holding their bows. Mélanyë looked up and understood. If Elrond had not been able to heal Frodo, they may have been fOrced to kill him themselves. For their protection. She'd overheard earlier about a Morgul blade. She knew very little about matters of the Black Land, only that their weapons were usually poisoned or cursed, and that some could turn the victim against his own kin. She decided it best not to tell Bilbo of this. Gandalf had understood, however, and seemed to have aged ten years in those few moments. He turned back to Elrond.

"Aragorn and three more hobbits are on their way here," he told him. Elrond nodded. Mélanyë listened more closely now. More hobbits? What was going on? Bilbo was now listening closer also. The two hobbits looked at one another, and then back at the discussion. 

"How far away are they?"

"A day, maybe two."

Suddenly Frodo began thrashing about in his sleep, calling out in his fell dreams. 

"Sam! Sam!" He cried, "Bombadil...the Riders...Sam, No!" He raised his arms to shield himself from his phantom attackers. Elrond returned to his side and renewed his chanting over the young hobbit. Bilbo stood and made his way to Gandalf's side. 

"Sam....Merry...Pippin..." Frodo continued, now calmer. He still seemed to be caught in some horrible memory, but its intensity was less. At length Elrond looked up.

"I need everyone to leave," He said plainly. There was a silent stillness in the air that was almost tangible. Mélanyë looked into Elrond's eyes, and he in hers. "Please," He said. The two elves standing beside her left obediently, and Gandalf began to guide Bilbo to the door. Mélanyë stood and walked over to the foot of the bed. 

Frodo was awake again, if awake was a proper term. His eyes were so clouded now that she could not see any remnant of their natural color in them. They searched the room in vain, finding nothing but the images of his dark dreams, tormenting him. She grieved that it had to be this way. She had often imagined the day she would meet her brother, but she never thought it would be like this. 

"Will he live?" She asked. She met Elrond's eyes again.

"I don't know."


	11. Chapter Eleven

Chapter Eleven: New Friends 

That night brought little rest to anyone in the homely House. Gandalf and Elrond had spent the whole night watching over Frodo who was still deeply held by the curse of the fell blade. Bilbo had slept, but the fatigue and worry were plain on his aged face. Mélanyë had slept too, but with evil dreams of dangers she'd never seen.

The whole next day and night was full of worry and doubt. Elrond had not permitted anyone to interrupt his work, and so Bilbo and Mélanyë spent the day in the Hall of Fire together. They listened to the beautiful songs, but their spirits were not lifted. Not even the song to Elbereth could chase away the despair that hung over the two hobbits. 

That night, Mélanyë woke suddenly from a dream of evil pursuit. She sat up, heart pounding and eyes darting around her dark room. They rested on a figure standing in the shadows near her bed. Panic seized her as she tried to run, but the figure came into the moonlight and her fears evaporated.

"Lindir?" She watched as her friend came and sat next to her, resting a hand on her shoulder. 

"I was worried about you," he said. "I'd never seen you so sad before. Is your brother all right?" She sighed softly.

"I don't know. Elrond won't let us see him." She looked into his dark eyes. "He's very sick, Lindir." He hugged her.

"It will be all right, Mel," he said soothingly. "Elrond is a good healer. I'm sure he will be able to help Frodo." He held her for a long time, and she felt her fear and worry melt away. He kissed her forehead and got up to leave, but she held onto his hand.

"Can you stay with me?" 

"You need to sleep," he said.

"I'll sleep better if you stay." He smiled and sat back down.

"Mel," he said, brushing some stray hair from her face, "I remember when you would be afraid of the _dark_." He saw a small smile on her lips.

"Not when you were here," she said. He sighed softly and lay down. She curled up next to him and rested her head on his chest as he wrapped his arms around her.

"Well, I'm here now," he said as he rubbed her back. "_Mára lómë, Melda._" he whispered, but she was already asleep. He smiled and carefully pulled a blanket over them before closing his eyes.

The sun was streaming in the windows the next morning as the two lay together. Mélanyë had slept through the night, and the evil dreams did not return. Lindir watched her peaceful face and stroked her cheek with his hand. He thought about all the times he'd stayed with her when her mother went away. Often she'd be gone for months helping protect Rivendell from the increasing threat of warg and goblin attacks. Mélanyë would sometimes be so worried for her that she would not be able to sleep unless he stayed with her.

With that memory of so long ago, he realized suddenly how much older she was. She was no longer the little girl he knew years ago. She was a young maiden now, and as she slept in his arms he realized how deeply he loved her. It wasn't anything he could explain- there was no one word he could say that would describe how he felt. He just knew that it was more than mere kinship. A soft knock at the door interrupted him from his thoughts.

"Mélanyë," Bilbo called from the other side. Gently, Lindir slipped his arm from under her head and walked softly to the door. He opened it to see the little hobbit waiting patiently outside. He slipped through the door and shut it softly.

"Mel is sleeping, Bilbo, do you need something?" He thought that Bilbo had given him an odd look as he opened the door, but it was gone. 

"I had just come to tell her that some young hobbits are here that she might want to meet. They just arrived early this morning and are settling down to a nice afternoon tea if she'd like to join them." Lindir nodded.

"Thank you, Bilbo, I will tell her for you." The hobbit bowed and left. Lindir stood at the door for a moment watching the hobbit leave, and then quietly slipped back into her room. 

Mélanyë joined Bilbo and the others about an hour later, just as they were starting on another round of seed cakes. The four hobbits stood when they saw her coming and Bilbo walked over to her. The worry and sadness was plain on their faces.

"Mélanyë, these are the hobbits that Gandalf spoke of," he said. "This is Samwise Gamgee, Meriadoc Brandybuck and Peregrin Took." He pointed to each in turn. She smiled broadly.

"Hullo," she said shyly. 

"She sounds like a hobbit," said Peregrin. "My name is 'Pippin', by the way, Bilbo here is just being formal." Meriadoc shook her hand.

"You can call me 'Merry'" He pointed to the other hobbit. "And we call him 'Sam'." Mélanyë bowed to them.

"Well, my friends call me 'Mel', so I guess you can call me that." she said. They all sat down to another tea and talked endlessly about their dangerous journey. Mel listened with interest as they described the flight out of the Shire and being chased by the Black Riders. She thought uneasily that her nightmares were very similar to their adventure. The conversation then turned to Frodo, and they all voiced their concerns over his recovery. Mel thought Sam seemed troubled, and he rarely spoke. Merry and Pippin were doing most of the talking, but she saw that they too were sad. Even in her own despair, she searched for a way to lighten the mood.

"Would you like to see my bakery?" she asked them. Immediately three pairs of eyes were staring expectantly at her. 

"Bakery?" Pippin sounded more than a little interested. "With cakes?" She smiled widely and nodded.

"Oh, now you've gone and done it," said Merry. He pointed to Pippin. "He's dangerous around desserts."

"And you're not?" Pippin chided. 

"I'm safer than you- remember the time you ate both pies that my mum had made for my birthday?"

"You helped!" 

"But you ate most of them!" The two continued arguing like this for several minutes, and Mélanyë listened in fascination. Bilbo covered a smile with his hand and Sam shook his head seemingly in embarrassment. Finally he spoke above the bickering cousins. 

"I would love to see your bakery, Mel," Sam said to her. After the other two loudly voiced their agreement, she led them all up the stairs to the warm sweet-smelling room.

"What's this?" Pippin asked, pointing to a utensil he held up.

"That's a whisk. It's for-"

"And this?"

"An apple peeler. I-"

"What is THAT?" Pippin ran over to where Merry was looking over sacks of dry ingredients. Merry had gotten his hands covered in a fine dark powder.

"No, not the cocoa!" she ran over to them, hoping that the mess was minimal. She produced a wet cloth and began cleaning up the hobbit's hands. She hadn't noticed before, but she was only slightly taller than Merry, and being so close to him she saw that he had blue eyes. 

"Thanks," he said politely, "I should learn not to touch strange powders in other people's kitchens." He elbowed Pippin. "You too, Pip." Pippin hid his hands innocently behind his back. Sam was quietly touring the bakery with Bilbo, and the two were talking softly, occasionally glancing Mel's way to see that the other two weren't causing a nuisance. Pippin turned back to his inquisitiveness.

"So what's cocoa? We don't have that in the Shire." He tasted it and promptly grimaced. "It doesn't taste very good!" Mel laughed.

"That's because there's no sugar in it. Chocolate is very bitter until you add some sugar." She walked over to a cupboard and took out a plate of dark cookies. "Here, you'll like these." Merry and Pippin each took one and took a bite. Pippin's eyes went wide with delight and he promptly finished off the rest of his. Merry took smaller bites, enjoying every bit of it.

Sam, having seen her bring the cookies out, led Bilbo over to the others and they each took one. They finished off their treats in contented silence, savoring the new taste. They thanked her and she noted with satisfaction that the hobbits' mood seemed much lighter. 

She spent the next few hours showing them some of her baking techniques. It thoroughly fascinated Sam, and he watched her closely, thinking he could use what he learned when he returned to the Shire. After they finished a few cakes Mélanyë saw Elrond through her window. He walked slowly through the courtyard and seemed haggard and exhausted. She dropped the bowl she was holding and rushed to the window. The others came up behind her and they all watched as Elrond sat by the fountain with bowed shoulders. 

"Frodo..." she whispered, fearing the worst. She saw Arwen rush to her father's side and hug him. 

"What's wrong?" Merry asked quietly. Mélanyë shook her head and watched as Arwen helped her father up and took him back into the main house. Just then the door to the bakery swung open and Gandalf came in. The five hobbits looked expectantly at him.

"Frodo is resting now, but you may go and see him."

When the door opened, Sam immediately rushed to his master's side. He picked up his hand and felt that it was warm, but still cooler than normal. 

"He's not awake!" he said as the others filed into the room and crowded around his bed. Gandalf stood beside Sam.

"No, as I said, he is resting. Elrond has put him into a healing sleep." He put an encouraging hand on Sam's shoulder as he spoke. "The shard of the blade has been removed, and now all that is left is for him to heal on his own." 

Mélanyë came close to Frodo's other side and knelt by his bed. The color had returned to his face and he looked as one in peaceful dreams. The other's watched as she took his hand and kissed it. 

"He'll be all right," she said, looking up at the others by the foot of the bed. "He is at peace now. He's dreaming of home." 

They stayed with him for the rest of the night, talking quietly or simply watching him. When the moon was high in the sky Gandalf returned and suggested they go and sleep themselves.

"If he wakes, someone will come and tell you," he said to them. That was good enough for the others, but Sam would not hear of it. He held fast his master's hand and said that he would stay with him until he woke, no matter how long that took. Gandalf didn't feel the need to argue with him, and so let him be. Bilbo gave Frodo a kiss on the forehead before leaving with Merry and Pippin.

"Goodnight, Frodo," they both said in turn as they left. Sam looked up at Mélanyë who still stood at the other side of Frodo's bed.

"Aren't you going too, Mel?" he asked. In answer, she reached behind her head and unclasped the chain from around her neck. As she lifted it, he saw that it held the Ring. He gasped in surprise.

"You had the Ring all along?" She nodded wordlessly and carefully fastened it around her brother's neck, concealing it under his shirt.

"I had to take it from him," she said quietly. "it wouldn't let him heal." She looked anxiously to the door. "I couldn't return it with Bilbo here, and I wasn't sure how much Merry and Pippin knew about it. I know that you understand...If I was Frodo I know I would confide in you." Sam blushed a deep scarlet at her words and bowed his head. She walked over to him and put a hand on his shoulder. "I'll see you in the morning." 

After she left, Sam grasped his master's hand tighter and looked on his face with a mixture of sadness and hope. "Well, Mr. Frodo," he whispered, "I found your sister." 


	12. Chapter Twelve

Chapter Twelve: October the 24th

The next morning Frodo was still sleeping. The hobbits were all anxious for him to wake, but they no longer feared for Frodo. They waited patiently for him, keeping each other company and trying not to think too much about it. They spent the day together, Mélanyë showing Merry and Pippin around Rivendell while Sam and Bilbo stayed with Frodo.

Mélanyë took the two younger hobbits to see the waterfalls and they spent hours there enjoying the view and the spray of water on their faces. After a while, Lindir joined them, for he had been looking for Mélanyë. The four talked and watched the falls together until finally the thought of Frodo crept back into their minds. The hobbits were all getting up to leave when Lindir quietly took hold of Mélanyë's hand.

"Let them go," he whispered to her. She watched them run off, oblivious to their guide being missing. She turned to Lindir after they were out of sight and he smiled to her. 

"You've been so busy with your cousins that I hadn't been able to see you." She squeezed his hand and leaned on his shoulder. He put his arm around her and they watched the sun sink to the hills and the falls turn to molten gold.

It was the morning of the 24th of October when Frodo finally woke. Mélanyë was anxious to see him, but knew that many other people had to see him first. Elrond and Gandalf needed to speak with him, and he would be wanting to see his friends right away. Trying to take her mind off her brother, she made herself busy in her bakery, making many kinds of cakes for the great feast she knew would be held that evening in honor of his recovery. The sun had begun it's decent towards the horizon when Gandalf came in.

"Mélanyë," he called, surprising her from her concentration. "It is time for your brother to meet you. He is getting ready for dinner." 

Gandalf led her down the corridor to his room. She was terribly anxious as they approached the room where her brother had slept for the past four days. 

Gandalf knocked softly on the door.

"Who is it?" they heard from inside.

"It is Gandalf."

The door opened and Gandalf stepped in. Mélanyë followed close behind the wizard. Frodo, it seems was in the middle of dressing, and she saw that he was fastening the last few buttons on a dark green tunic that he had been given. He greeted Gandalf warmly as he entered, and gave Mélanyë a curious glance.

"Frodo," Gandalf said, "I want you to meet someone." Gandalf motioned for her to step forward. 

"Hullo," Frodo greeted the elf, or so he thought she was, though was a bit surprised at her. All the elves he'd met so far were tall, some even taller than Gandalf, but she was closer to his own height. 

"This is Mélanyë. She helped watch over you while you were sick," he heard Gandalf say. He thanked her as he had done with everyone he had met since he had woken from his sleep, but then stopped himself. He thought she seemed very familiar. He absolutely hated the idea of forgetting someone he had already met, so he asked.

"I beg your pardon, but have we met before?"

"Y-yes, uhm, I mean no, not really," she stammered. "I mean, you weren't awake when we first met." Her voice was soft and kind, and made her seem even more familiar to him. 

"Who are you?" he finally asked. There was a long pause as she tried to find the right way to tell him. Elrond had told her that for the first few days after waking, Frodo might be overly sensitive and emotional, so she wanted to be careful with her response. But as the minutes passed, and he seemed to grow impatient, she was fOrced to say it in the only words that she could think of.

"I am your sister, Frodo."

For many moments, Frodo stood in silence, unbelieving the words he had just heard. He tried to find some way to accept this new situation he found himself in. His sister? His thoughts crept back to his childhood. He was five years old, kneeling at Primrose's* grave, weeping for the sister he'd never seen. He now saw this girl standing in front of him trying to take her place, and he felt a sudden rush of anger. He felt heat rise in his cheeks as he tried to sort out all the emotions welling up inside him. He didn't want to be angry with this girl he didn't know, but he couldn't stop it. He kept thinking of the sweet face of a twin sister he'd known only in his dreams, and how she would feel knowing that someone had taken her place in his life. His eyes flashed at her.

"How can you be my sister? You're an elf!" he cried. "I already have a sister! She died in Buckland fifty years ago!" He knew these words must have hurt the girl in front of him, but he couldn't stop them from coming. He opened his mouth to continue with his angry ranting, and only then truly saw the hurt in her eyes. For a reason he did not know, they reminded him of his father's eyes when he had been sad, telling him for the first time of the daughter that he had lost on the same day he had gained a son. As quick as it had come the anger left him, only to be replaced with a deep sadness and regret for his harsh words. 

He looked down at the cool polished floor under his feet and saw the blurry image of his own tears splashing on the smooth stone. He felt his knees give way, and arms catch him as he fell. He wept then, for Primrose, and his mother and father, and for Sam and Merry and Pippin, and for all the hurts that he'd had to bear in the last few months and all of the horrible dreams that he still half-remembered. 

After some time, he didn't know how long, he realized he had stopped crying, and saw that he was back in his room in Rivendell. All the horrible things that had caused him such sadness seemed far, far away as he felt the cool evening breeze on his face. He became aware that arms still held him, and as he looked up, he saw that they belonged to Mélanyë. He sat up and wiped his face, feeling somewhat ashamed for his outburst. He looked to the door and saw that Gandalf was gone. The two sat in silence for a long time. 

"I'm sorry," he said finally, his voice still slightly hoarse. He cleared his throat and continued. "I'm not angry with you...it's just," he paused, searching for a way to mend the situation.

"I know how hard these past months have been for you," Mélanyë whispered softly, "I understand." More silence followed. Frodo studied his hands in his lap. After a moment he looked over and saw her doing the same.

"Who were your parents?" he asked. 

"Ancalimë was my mother," she replied, looking up, "and my father's name was Drogo Baggins." Frodo finally met her eyes and studied her face. He saw that there were features that were not very Elvish about her. Her eyes were brown and her hair, while long and straight, was same dark brown as his own. Her skin also was the darker hue that his father had had, and her features were most definitely Fallowhide like his. His eyes strayed to her feet.

"You wear shoes!" he said, surprised. Without a word she reached down and removed one of her soft slippers and held up her foot. Without realizing it, Frodo did the same, and their feet met. "They're almost the same size!" he said. She laughed.

"You see? We are not so different after all!" She began to replace her slipper as she spoke, but then stopped and removed the other one instead. "When I was young, I noticed that I was different from the other elf children. My mother, I guess, took pity on me and had some shoes made that would fit my larger feet so that I felt more like I belonged."

"Where is your mother?" Frodo asked. He was beginning to accept that she really was who she said she was, and was more comfortable with her now. His heart ached for Primrose, but he felt that if she were alive she would be happy to meet this new sister too. He saw a sudden sadness pass over Mélanyë's face now as he asked his question.

"She left," she said. "She has gone to Valinor- to the Undying Lands."

"Why?" There was a long pause before she answered. When she spoke, she again looked down at her hands and began to play with a silver ring he now saw on the middle finger of her right hand. 

"My mother was one of the warrior elves," she began. "She would join the armies of Mirkwood to help fight the goblins that constantly threaten our realms. Once when I was young, she was wounded in battle. The blade was cursed and Elrond could not heal her. He said her only hope was to seek healing in Valinor." She stopped and was silent for a long time. When she looked up, she saw Frodo looking at her. He reached out and took one of her hands. 

"I lost my family too," he said. 

Sam, Merry and Pippin sat outside Frodo's room waiting for the two to come out. The three sat facing each other, Sam with his head in his hands, and Merry and Pippin tossing a ball between them. Finally, Pippin caught the ball and sighed. 

"What are they doing in there?" he cried. "They're going to be late for dinner, and us too!" Sam looked up from the square of tile he had been studying.

"Gandalf said not to disturb them," he said for the fifth time since they'd been sitting out there. "Frodo and Mel need to be alone."

"Well why can't they be alone after dinner?" Pippin complained. He tossed the ball at Merry who just barely caught it. He looked down at it and grinned. 

"Maybe we can teach Mel to play ball later," he said to himself. 

"What was that, Merry?" Pippin asked. Merry looked startled.

"Oh, nothing." He tossed the ball back to his cousin. Just then the door opened, and the two siblings came out. They were immediately greeted by the other three, who were only too happy to see them. Mélanyë watched the four friends and smiled. Was she really a part of this group? Feeling almost like an intruder, she began to quietly slip away. She would find Frodo again after the banquet. She turned to leave only to bump into Merry. 

"Where are you going, Mel?" he asked. She felt her face flush as he looked at her. "You're not coming with us?" She began to tell him that she didn't belong with them, but he didn't seem to hear her. He draped his arm around her and guided her back to the group. Sam and Pippin greeted her when they saw her. Frodo caught her eyes and gave her an encouraging smile. All at once the depression left her and she began to smile. She smiled and couldn't stop. She felt joy that she could never remember having before fill her at being accepted by these hobbits. Before she knew it they were making their way down the hall, telling stories and laughing as merrily as only hobbits can.

They arrived at the grand banquet hall not too long after. Frodo was immediately ushered to his seat near the head of the long table, and so said a hasty farewell to his friends. The others were shown to their seats, but Mélanyë's gaze was caught by a group of elves that were standing nearby talking in a small group.

"Cóume!" she cried as she ran over to the tall elf. He was talking with another elf near their seats. He turned and smiled.

"Ah! I was wondering if I'd find you here, Mélanyë, daughter of Ancalimë," he said warmly. "Legolas, do you remember? This is the young elf I found in our woods with a pack of dwarves a few years ago." Legolas smiled and extended his hand to her.

"Yes, of course I do," he said. "It is good to see you." She took his hand. "You were in my father's halls for such a short time, but it is hard to forget such a lovely visitor." She bowed her head to hide the bright flush that rose in her cheeks at his words. 

"Thank you," she said, and looked up. "What of Liofa? Did he come with you?" The smiles slowly faded on the two tall elves and they looked at one another. Cóume crouched in front of her and spoke softly to her.

"He has gone missing, Mélanyë." Her heart stopped. Missing? Where could he have gone? A great sadness weighed on her heart at the news. "That is part of why we have come. You will hear about it at the Council tomorrow." She bowed her head in sorrow and the three shared a silent moment together. The mood was broken soon after as some new arrivals began a noisy discussion further down the table. Legolas was the first to look up and he frowned.

"_Naugrim_," he muttered. The others turned to see many dwarves crowding around the end of the table. They seemed to be arguing about the seating arrangements. Mélanyë smiled. She turned and bowed to the two elves before dashing off to meet the new guests.

"Gloin!" she cried. The old dwarf turned and caught her in a hug.

"Mélanyë! It's good to see you again!" She saw many others she recognized from her trip to the Lonely Mountain. One of them standing behind Gloin approached her.

"Hullo, Gimli," she said to the younger dwarf. She saw a deep sadness in his eyes and understood at once. She took his arm. "You went to see her." He nodded. She hugged him and he squeezed her tightly. "It's good to see you, Gimli."

The dinner passed smoothly with many tales told and old friends catching up on lost years. Mélanyë was seated with Sam, Merry and Pippin and the three talked endlessly about the Shire, and of Frodo and how excited they were that he was okay. Often they would all look to the head of the table where Frodo was talking with Gloin. He saw them looking a few times and waved, laughing when he was answered with four waving hands. 

After the dinner they all went into the Hall of Fire, where Frodo met Bilbo for the first time since waking. Sensing that this was a special moment for them, Mélanyë let the other four rush off together and she stayed behind to watch the scene from across the room. She headed to her favorite spot near the fire and saw Lindir waiting for her. She laughed.

"How did you know I'd be here?" she asked. 

"I _have_ known you your whole life, Mel," he said as she sat down. "You don't think I'd know where you would sit in the Hall of Fire?" 

They watched the meeting of the hobbits, and sang along with the songs when Elrond and Arwen came. Lindir and Mélanyë listened to a song Bilbo had written for the occasion, attempting to trick them by asking which part he wrote and which was written by Aragorn. Lindir asked Bilbo to repeat his song, but Bilbo politely refused.

"I am flattered, Lindir, but it would be too tiring to repeat it all."

"Not too tiring for _you_," said Lindir, glancing at Mélanyë who was half- asleep beside him. "You know you are never tired of reciting your own verses. But really, we cannot answer your question at one hearing!" Bilbo seemed genuinely surprised to have stumped the elf.

"What? You really can't tell which parts were mine and which were the Dunedan's?"** At last, however, Bilbo retired, leaving Lindir to ponder the question for the night. He resolved to ask Mélanyë the answer to the riddle in the morning. As the other hobbits were leaving or being carried off to bed, Lindir looked down and to his surprise he saw her asleep on his shoulder. He chuckled softly before lifting her up and bringing her back to her room.

*Borrowed from Overlithe's 'One Summer' series.

** Borrowed from The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring; Book Two, Chapter One- 'Many Meetings'.


	13. Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Thirteen: The Quest

The next morning Mélanyë woke in her room without any idea how she had gotten there. She realized with a touch of embarrassment that she had fallen asleep in the Hall of Fire- she hadn't done that since she was a child. She got up and dressed quickly before going to find Frodo. They had both been invited to the Council meeting and were going to go together. She crossed the hall between their rooms and knocked softly on the door.

"Frodo," she called. There was no answer. She knocked a little louder, but there were still no sounds from his room. She was about to open the door to wake him up when she felt a tap on her shoulder, causing her to jump almost a foot in the air.

"There you are," said Frodo, who stood behind her. "Come on, we're having breakfast." She saw a sly grin on her brother's face and chuckled to herself.

"You did that on purpose," she said. He grinned and led her down the hall.

After breakfast was the Council meeting. Since Mélanyë, Frodo and Bilbo would all be occupied, Lindir volunteered to entertain the other three hobbits. Mélanyë sat behind Bilbo and listened intently to all that was said, finally learning all the history of the Ring and how it had come to Frodo. She listened with great sadness to Legolas as he told the story of how Liofa disappeared with the creature named 'Gollum'. She watched in shock when Frodo got up and announced he would take the Ring on its final journey, and had to restrain herself from getting out of her chair in protest. She felt quite relieved when Sam appeared and announced he would help his master to the end, although had wondered, with a touch of amusement, how he had escaped from Lindir's sights. After Bilbo's request for a break, Elrond finally adjourned the meeting. Mélanyë shot out of her seat and headed for her brother. 

"Frodo," she took him by the arm and spoke softly, "What are you doing?"

"I have to do this, Mel," he said evenly. Sam was standing just behind his friend. 

"But it's dangerous!" she protested. "Weren't you listening? Boromir described the Black Lands well enough to discourage anyone from going there, and you say you want to go?"

"I don't _want_ to go anywhere," he said, "but this is important. This is something I have to do," he looked into her eyes. "Or weren't _you_ listening?" Before she could respond, Bilbo interrupted them. 

"Well I'm starving! What do you say we go find Merry and Pippin? Wherever those two are, there's sure to be food!" He squeezed in between the two siblings and took each by the arm, guiding them out of the Council chamber.

"You shouldn't have to do this!" Mel and Frodo were arguing in his room that night. They didn't know it, but an audience of three hobbits and a handful of elves stood just outside the door.

"I don't _have_ to, this is _my_ choice!" Frodo defended. "No one else will take it. They're all too afraid!" 

"As they should be!" she responded. "The Ring is dangerous! Made by the Dark Lord himself!"

"Somebody has to destroy it!"

"But why you?" There was a long pause. Mélanyë gazed out the window, arms crossed, staring at the stars. Frodo stood silently behind her. "I didn't wait all these years to meet you to lose you like this," she said quietly. Frodo sighed softly walked up behind her, putting a hand on her shoulder. 

"You're not going to lose me. Besides, Sam is coming." Mélanyë allowed a slow smile to creep onto her face.

"Sauron must be weak indeed if he would fear the might of two hobbits," she said, still staring out the window. Frodo bowed his head and fell silent. "I'm going with you," she said suddenly. Frodo looked up in alarm. Outside, several ears pressed closer to the door.

"What? No.."

"At least then it will be two hobbits and an elf," she flashed him a wicked grin. Frodo was shaking his head in disbelief.

"You're not coming, Mel," he said. "I don't want you to go." She caught his eyes with hers and responded.

"I don't want you to go either. Now we're even." He shook his head again.

"No.." he could find no other words. "No," he said again, "I won't allow it."

"Frodo, you need help!" she said.

"Lord Elrond is choosing companions for me," he said. She thought about this for a minute. 

"That's right, he is..." she said distantly. At last she met his eyes. "I'll speak with him then." Before he could argue she brushed past him to the door. 

"Mel, wait," he said, following her. As she opened the door, two hobbits fell to the floor at her feet and several elves backed away. Merry and Pippin looked up at her sheepishly. She sighed, stepping over them even as Frodo came up behind her, briefly met Lindir's eyes, who had also been listening, and headed down the hall to find Elrond. He followed her.

Frodo tried to follow her also, but found himself barricaded in his room by a heap of cousins. He looked down at them with his hands on his hips.

"Merry. Pippin." The two picked themselves up off the floor as the elves dispersed.

"Frodo," Merry said, who was the first standing. Sam, who had been leaning against the wall beside the door, was immediately at Frodo's side.

"What happened, Mr. Frodo?" he asked. Frodo managed a wry smile.

"I suppose you all know very well what happened," he looked accusingly at his cousins, then back to his friend. "We had a fight, Sam."

"Are you two all right, I mean-" Sam asked cautiously. Frodo was about to answer when Pippin interrupted.

"Oh, they're fine," he said. He gestured to Merry. "He and I fight all the time, but we're the best of friends." Merry gave him a playful whack on the shoulder.

"No we're not," he said. Pippin hit him back.

"Yes we are!"

"No we aren't!"

"Yes we are!"

Frodo chuckled, but looked past them to where Mélanyë had gone. Sam leaned over to him.

"Do you think Elrond will let her go?" he asked. Frodo sighed and shook his head.

"I hope he makes the right decision, Sam."

"No! Absolutely not! It's out of the question!" Elrond cried. Mélanyë stood in front of the elf as he continued. "A girl your age has no business going on a dangerous journey like this!"

"I _am_ older than Frodo," she reminded him quietly. 

"By five years!"

"Six." He sighed and looked her in the eyes. 

"Mélanyë, listen to me." He knelt down in front of her. "Since your mother left, I've come to think of you as one of my own children. It's bad enough you went all that way with those dwarves, but to go on a dangerous quest like this? I don't want to see anything happen to you. Do you understand that?"

"Yes." He nodded and stood, assuming the conversation finished. "But I'm not a little girl anymore," She finished after a long pause. Elrond froze for a moment before turning back to look at her. "I want to grow up." She gestured to her height. "Just because I look like a child, doesn't mean I am one." A pained expression momentarily passed over his face as he considered her words. After a long silence he finally spoke.

"I'll think about it." Before she could get excited, he pointed to her sternly, "but I won't promise anything."

The next few weeks were ones of uneasiness between Frodo and Mélanyë. Each knew of the other's view of the quest, but they avoided speaking about it. They spent a lot of time together, either alone, or with the others, but they always seemed to be able to avoid talking about the one issue that was constantly on their minds. 

At last the tension finally broke. They had taken a picnic lunch to the waterfalls and had sat eating and admiring the view in silence, when Frodo finally broke the long silence that had begun the day of the Council meeting.

"I don't want you coming with me, Mel." Mélanyë paused in what she was doing. She had known they would have to talk about it sooner or later, but she hadn't been prepared for it just then. 

"That's not up to us now," she said carefully. "It's Elrond's decision who goes with you." She looked in his eyes. "If he says no, then I'll have to stay. It's not my decision anymore." Pure relief showed in his eyes and he hugged her. She hugged him back, a little off guard, but happily. They finished their lunch, talking about other happier things. They never spoke of the quest again until the day he left, both resolving to making each day they had together a good one. 

"Correct me if I'm wrong," he said one day while they were hiking in the nearby hills. They had taken Merry, Pippin and Sam along and enough food to last them until dinner time. They would be back at the Homely House for supper. "Doesn't your name mean 'love'? I know something about Elvish, and I was just wondering."

"It mean's 'I love', actually," she said, watching Merry and Pippin running through the trees ahead of them. She looked back at Frodo. "My mother loved your father very much."

"Our father," he said with a smile. She drew him to her with her arm in a short hug. They walked in silence for several more minutes, enjoying the day and watching their friends up ahead. 

"Our father," Mélanyë broke the silence, "what was he like?" Frodo looked to her in amazement, the obvious question plain in his eyes. "I never knew him." She avoided his eyes as she spoke. "My mother told me that he didn't know about me." Frodo took her hand and squeezed it.

"He was...very kind," he said. "I'm sure that if he'd known he would have loved you very much." She sighed softly.

"I'd often wonder what my life would be like if he had stayed. I never had a real 'father', even with Elrond to take care of me. Elrohir is like a brother to me, and Lindir..." she trailed off. "He's my best friend. When Bilbo told me I had a real brother..." she looked in Frodo's eyes and immediately lost herself in them.

"You can imagine my surprise when I found I had a sister," he said. She squeezed his hand before tapping him on the shoulder. "What's that for?" he asked. She grinned at him.

"Tag!" she cried and ran ahead. He bolted after her, letting his pack fall to the ground as he chased her. 

At last the day they had dreaded came- Elrond had made his decision. The news came that eight companions had been chosen to go with Frodo. Mélanyë was not one of them. She took the news well, resolving to herself that she would cry later, when no one would see her. As it turned out Lindir heard her through her window and stayed with her until she calmed down. 

When the Fellowship departed there was a tearful farewell between many. Bilbo and Mélanyë said their good-byes to each of the companions, wishing them well and a safe return. 

Mélanyë hugged each of the hobbits in turn. At last she came to Frodo and hugged him tight. "Don't worry, Mel," he said to her, "I'll be back soon." 

"You had better be," she whispered back to him. "Or I'll come looking for you." He smiled and turned, walking down into the courtyard. Mélanyë watched him go, then came to stand beside Lindir and listened to Elrond speak.

"The Ringbearer is setting out on the Quest of Mount Doom. Know you who travel with him: no oath nor bond is laid to go further than you will. Farewell, hold to your purpose, and may the blessings of Elves and Men and all Free Folk go with you."


	14. Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fourteen: Visit from Lorien

The months passed slowly after the departure of the Fellowship. Mélanyë became very close and rarely smiled for anything. She would often seclude herself in her bakery, or go for long lonely walks in the lands about the Homely House and would usually speak only with Bilbo or Lindir. Nothing held her interest for very long, and even Bilbo found it difficult to make her happy. He and Lindir both knew that losing Frodo had hit her hard, and not being allowed to go with him had only made things worse.

It was at this time when a small group of elves arrived to see Elrond. They had long silver hair, and their faces were fair but grim. On their backs they wore long curving bows and at their sides were bright swords.

Bilbo and Mélanyë had been sitting in the courtyard working on a new poem when they arrived, and they watched as Elrond came to greet them. He spoke quietly to the leader before quickly ushering them inside one of his meeting rooms.

"Who are they?" Bilbo asked with polite curiosity. Mélanyë had gotten up to get a better look at where they had gone, but the group had passed out of sight.

"I don't know. They're from over the mountains," she said sitting back down, "but I don't think they're from Mirkwood." Bilbo thought he caught a faint glimmer in her eyes as she spoke and wondered at it. "Maybe they're from Lorien...Bilbo, I think they're Galadhrim!" She sounded genuinely excited now for the first time in months. Bilbo wasn't sure why these visitors had caught her interest so much, but was delighted she was happy about something. 

"Why do you think they're here?" he asked, hoping to keep her interested. She shook her head absently.

"I don't know," she said, more to herself than to him. "From what I've heard about the Galadhrim, they're very shy- even of other elves. Why would they come all this way?" She had gotten up again and was looking in the direction that they had gone. "I wonder what they're talking about in there."

She found Lindir later that evening and they shared a walk through the gardens. She asked him if he knew who the elves were and why they had come. He nodded.

"Yes, they are from Lorien," he said. The sun was setting behind the trees and the sky glowed a rich violet. Bilbo was not far away 'sitting and thinking' as he often did. 

"Why have they come?" she asked again, eagerly. Lindir wondered, as Bilbo had, why she was so interested in the visit. He hesitated before answering.

"They were sent by the Lady Galadriel," he told her. "They've come to ask Elrond for assistance in battle." 

"What battle?" she asked, too quickly. "Lindir, what is going on?" He stopped walking and looked up. She followed his gaze, and the two watched as Earendil appeared in the sky above them. He sighed softly and looked down at her. 

"The darkness is growing outside our realm," he said. "Our patrols have seen an increase in goblins and other fell creatures threatening the borders." He knelt in front of her. "Your brother's quest will end the war if it is achieved, but until then we must fight this growing evil ourselves." She looked at him, beginning to understand what he was saying. She wasn't sure she liked the way he had said 'if'. 

"There is a great evil threatening the land of Rohan. We are the only hope Men have in defeating it. The Galadhrim are here to ask Elrond to send his army to help."

"What does that mean?"

"It means that I am going with them." She stared at him, in shock.

"You?" she looked into his dark eyes, searching for a different answer. "You're going?" He nodded solemnly. At once her excitement turned to fear. Wars are dangerous; she knew that as well as anyone. People die in wars. She looked back to Lindir in disbelief. She felt as if she were back in the Council chamber, and Frodo was taking the quest of the Ring all over again, and she was losing him. This time she was losing her best friend. She shook her head wordlessly, and Lindir looked at her sadly.

"I have to do this, Mel," he said. In her thoughts, she heard Frodo say the same words to her in his room months ago. She slowly shook her head. _'I'm losing them all,'_ she thought.

"I won't let this happen again," she said softly, so softly that he almost didn't hear her. He leaned in closer. 

"Let what happen?" She was looking at the ground and he could see that she was involved in some sort of inner struggle. Emotions chased each other across her face until finally one took over. Determination. She looked into his eyes and what he saw there frightened him.

"I'm going with you," she said firmly. "I won't be left behind again."

"Mel, you're not going!" Lindir shouted. The two were making their way across the courtyard. After a quiet argument in the garden, Mel had decided to seek out the leader of the Galadhrim and ask to join their army. Lindir, understandably, was not happy about it.

The Galadhrim were speaking with Elrohir and Glorfindel and they looked up as she neared. She bowed politely before speaking.

"_Suilad_" she said. "Who is the leader here?" One of the elves stepped forward.

"My name is Haldir, how can I help you?"

"You can let me go with you to Rohan," she said bravely. Lindir caught up with her and took her arm.

"Mélanyë, no!" he said sternly. She shook him off and stared at Haldir. He looked to Lindir.

"I apologize, Haldir, she's a little upset," he explained. Mel turned and gave him a cold glare.

"Why would you want to go, little one?" Haldir asked. He had bowed slightly to look her in the eyes, and she saw that a few of the others seemed to be amused by the situation. A fierce uncontrollable anger surged through her at the thought of being patronized by these elves.

"I am not a child!" she cried. "Why can't you all see that?" She was looking at Lindir as she spoke and he seemed alarmed at her tone. Haldir straightened and looked to his kin. The smiles were quickly hidden. After a pause, Haldir continued. 

"I don't think you're a child," he said. "Lindir is just concerned for you, and I must say I am too." He paused. "Have you ever been in a battle?"

"Yes," she answered hesitantly. Haldir nodded knowingly.

"And have you ever killed anyone?" Mel looked anxiously between Haldir and Elrohir, who was standing nearby watching the scene with crossed arms. He didn't seem thrilled with her new attitude either. 

"N-no," she said, sensing some sort of trap in the question. Haldir knelt in front of her. 

"Well, let me tell you that it's not an easy thing to do. It takes a lot of courage and training." 

"Teach me- I can learn," she said eagerly. He smiled at her.

"I'm sure you can, but war has come swiftly upon the men of Rohan. We do not have the time to train a new soldier." Her face fell. He tipped her chin up with a finger.

"_Mel_," he said, "It's not worth it." 

"Then why are you going?" she said coldly, not breaking eye contact. He stared at her for along time before finally standing and turning away. He spoke with Elrohir in a hushed tone. The two argued fervently for several minutes and then finally Elrohir came and led her away before she could object.

"But-"

"No Mel, please." He led her by the arm into the main house. When they were in her room he shut the door behind them.

"What was that?" he asked. She stared at him in confusion. 

"I want to go-"

"You're not going, Mélanyë," he said firmly, leaving no room for argument. "You were not permitted to go with the Fellowship for the same reason. It's too dangerous. What would your mother say if she knew we let you go to your death?"

"I'm not going to die!" she cried.

"You will never survive a battle with Uruk-Hai!" She stepped back in fear as he raised his voice. "How long do you think you'll last against an enemy whose only purpose is to kill? You can barely hold a sword properly!"

"Bu-"

"No!" A heavy silence fell between them. His stare bored into her until she felt like the child he thought she was. At length he left her, closing the door behind him. She stood for a long time, staring silently at the door before throwing herself onto her bed in tears.

Early the next day the elves who would go with the Galadhrim were assembled in the main courtyard making ready to depart. Mélanyë stood beside Elrohir as she watched Lindir sling his bow onto his back. He saw her and walked over to her. 

"I'm sorry, Mel," he said. Her eyes were red, and she was again very close to tears. He hugged her tight, and she clung to him as if she would never let go. He kissed her forehead and rose to join the others. She grasped his hand, unwilling to let go, and he squeezed it before losing her grip. The tears flowed down her face as she watched the proud company go, leaving her behind.


	15. Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Fifteen: Escape

She spent the day in her room, alternating between weeping into her pillow and sleeping. Elrohir spent half the day trying to calm her down but nothing would. She wouldn't eat anything he brought her, and wouldn't even speak to him. He finally left after she fell asleep, thinking it best that she let out her grief alone. 

Just after nightfall, she woke and lay in her bed for a long time staring up at the stars. She thought of Frodo and Lindir, and how they had been sent into danger while she had been forced to stay and wait to see if they'd come back to her. 

'_They all think I'm a child just because I'm smaller than them.' _She looked to her ring that Gimli had given her and the violet gem sparkled in the dim light of the moon. _'The dwarves didn't think I was a child. They understood me. Ferar would have let me go.'_ She sighed heavily and got up to look out her window. _'I have to do something!'_ she thought, _'I want to help and I'm stuck here! When will they let me grow up? They don't understand me...' _She paused in her thoughts as she noticed that the guard was not at the gate.

_'Maybe...'_

_'No, they'd catch you right away.'_

_'But they're not there...'_

_'You'd get in big trouble, they'd never trust you again.' _

_'If I'm going to die in battle, what does it matter?'_

She waited for a response, but none came. She wasn't sure if that was a good sign or not. Without thinking, she began to pack her knapsack. She took everything she could think of that might be useful: extra clothes, food she'd had for hiking, a flint knife, rope, her map of the area around Rivendell, and some other things she thought she'd need. She donned her cloak and strapped her bag to her back, and then a thought struck her.

_'I don't have a weapon.'_

She searched around frantically, but could find nothing that could serve as protection. She thought of sneaking into the bakery to take one of her kitchen knives, but then stopped herself.

_'Elrohir...'_

She carefully slipped through her door and ran softly through the halls to Elrohir's room. Slowly opening the door, she crept in as quiet as she could, careful not to make any sound. He was sitting on his bed, meditating. Very slowly and cautiously, she made her way over to a table by the window and carefully lifted the silver dagger from the polished surface. She quickly strapped it around her under her cloak and left as quietly as she had come. 

She ran back to her room, trembling with excitement. She'd never done anything like this before, and the adrenaline was pumping through every vein. She slipped out through her window and like a shadow, moved towards the gate. By some luck of the Valar the guard was still nowhere to be seen. As quick and quiet as only a hobbit can run, she dashed through the gate and out into the cold night. 

She ran fast and far, not stopping for fear of someone finding out that she'd left and pursuing her. She ran in the direction she guessed the others had taken, and didn't stop until her legs nearly gave out. She collapsed onto the ground as the first light of dawn was peaking over the mountains. Not far ahead loomed a great forest that stretched up to the foot of the Misty Mountains. She allowed herself an hour's rest before getting up to run for the trees. 

She reached the forest as the sun blazed high above and took out her map. She decided that Haldir probably wouldn't use the High Pass because he would want secrecy, so he would most likely turn south and make for one of the unguarded passes. She had been travelling through the forest for a few hours when she suddenly found herself staring down the shaft of an arrow. Her breath caught in her throat and she looked around to see that she was surrounded by the sharp points of Rivendell arrows. The most disconcerting part was that she recognized most of the archers. 

She was led through the woods to a small clearing where Haldir and the other leaders were having some sort of meeting. Lindir and Glorfindel were among them. The archers brought her to Haldir and were dismissed. She saw a grieved expression on Lindir's face as he watched.

"Why have you followed us?" Haldir asked. He wasn't happy, and she flinched as he spoke. Then, remembering her courage from the day before, she answered.

"I'm going with you." Haldir stared her down.

"You cannot come with us," he said. She was silent, unable to think of an answer. Finally, she nodded.

"All right," she said. "Which way is Rohan?" She thought she heard a few chuckles from the onlookers, but as she scanned their faces, she saw no smiles to betray them. Haldir was not laughing.

"I'm serious, Mélanyë," he said.

"So am I."

"You don't belong in this war!" he said, clearly frustrated. "This is not your fight!"

"It's not yours either," she countered. Haldir sighed and lowered his voice.

"You're only a baker," he told her sadly. She met his eyes bravely.

"I am also a sister, and I have more to fight for than anyone here. What will Frodo's sacrifice be worth if all the Men he fought to save are dead?" She saw a look of pure shock pass over the tall elf's face. He quickly hid it, but she'd seen it, and a feeling of utter satisfaction flowed through her. They could send her home and lock her up, but she knew now that he knew she was right. He fixed her with a stern gaze.

"I can't spare anyone to take you back," he said finally. "I would send you there alone, but I know you wouldn't go anyway." She thought she saw as trace of a smirk as he said that. "You can stay on one condition." He knelt and looked at her, eye to eye. "I'm not treating you any differently than anyone else. You have to keep up on your own. I am not a babysitter." She felt anger rise in her heart at his words. _'Baby?'_ At that he got up and gave the order to move out. As he walked away, Lindir thought he saw a flash of something on Haldir's face. He looked pleased.

When Haldir was out of sight, Lindir approached Mélanyë. He took her firmly by the shoulders and looked into her eyes.

"What do you think you're doing, coming here?" he whispered harshly. She felt her heart quicken and for a split second actually feared her friend. "I told you not to come- we all did! Don't you see the danger you're in?" 

"I have to do this, Lindir," she said, echoing his words to her the day before. Lindir didn't answer right away, but stared into her eyes. She wasn't sure what she saw there but knew that he was struggling with emotions. He finally released her from his iron grip and cupping her face in his hands he kissed her forehead and then crushed her in a hug.

"You'll need this," he said, taking Laspis from his side and kneeling to strap it hurriedly around her waist. The others were departing and he didn't want them to be left behind. When he was finished he took her by the shoulders once more and looked into her eyes before he silently led her by the hand after the others.

The journey over the mountains was cold and terrible. She was right that Haldir chose to take a more secret pass over the mountains. Not for the first time, Mélanyë wished they had taken the much easier High Pass that she and the dwarves had used. She understood Haldir's reluctance to use the much travelled road, but that didn't make the journey any easier.

She waded through the snow, trying desperately to keep up with the other elves' longer strides. Several times Lindir would have to go back for her because they nearly left her behind. 

"You're too small for this kind of thing, Mel," he said as he walked beside her. She smiled up at him, shivering. "And I see that Hobbits don't do well in snow." He stopped, and drew his extra cloak from his pack. "It's a little long, but it will keep you warm," he said as he pinned the cloak around her.

The nights were coldest of all. Elves don't need to sleep as Hobbits do, and Haldir was prepared to lead them on their trek all through the night, but as the stars appeared in the twilight, Mélanyë began to stumble. They had been marching all day, with only brief stops to rest. Her eyes were becoming sleepy, but still she went on. Lindir sprinted up to Haldir.

"We should rest, Haldir," he said, and looked back at the small Hobbit struggling to keep up with the company. Haldir followed his gaze and frowned. 

"She looks exhausted." He looked back at Lindir. "I never should have agreed to this. She doesn't belong here with us. She's so young..."

"She would have followed anyway, Haldir, her mind was made up. Even now, she is trying to keep up with us. She'll wear herself out before admitting defeat." Haldir sighed and nodded.

"We'll stop for the night." He called to the other elves that they were to make camp for the night, as Lindir ran back to Mélanyë. 

"Mel," he called. She looked up. "We're stopping." The relief was plain on her face. Without even looking around, she let her pack fall to the ground and cast herself down onto the snow. Lindir laughed and walked over to her. "That's not much of a bed," he said, leaning over her.

"It will do," she said. She closed her eyes and was asleep almost immediately. 

She woke with the first light of the morning sun, and felt surprisingly warm. She opened her eyes to find Lindir's cloak lying on top of her. He was not there, but she noticed a patch of snow beside her where he had been sitting, watching her. She pulled the soft material closer around herself and breathed deeply the comforting smell of her friend.

After they'd eaten a light breakfast, the company set out again. The day passed the same as the one before, and was just as cold and miserable for Mélanyë. She found herself longing for Rivendell and her warm bakery. 

Night came far too slowly for her, since Haldir had led them on a longer march to make up for the time they'd lost. She was even more tired and fell to sleep more quickly when at last he called a halt. She barely remembered Lindir wishing her good dreams before she fell into them.

That morning, she opened her eyes to see a violet sunrise in the horizon. So lost was she in the beauty of it, that it took her a long while to notice the arms that held her. She turned around and saw Lindir admiring the sunrise as she had been. For a long moment they stared into each other's eyes.

"You were shivering," he said with a smile. "I thought you would freeze." She lay her head on his shoulder and they watched the sunrise together.

By mid-afternoon, they came to the end of their journey over the mountains, and were back on solid ground by nightfall. They entered the dark eaves of Mirkwood and pressed on far into the night. Mélanyë didn't complain, but was beginning to walk with her eyes closed. Just when she thought she could go no further, they at last halted. As she squinted ahead, she saw the reason. Another army of elves had been waiting for them, and Haldir was talking with their leaders.

"Mirkwood elves," Lindir whispered to her. She nodded, blinking away sleep and trying to look focused. She barely noticed him leave her side as he was called over by one of the Galadhrim. Haldir soon bade them rest while the armies organized themselves. Relieved, Mélanyë took off her cloak and curled up under it by the foot of a nearby tree. 

Lindir, who had been part of the meeting, looked up over Haldir's head to see the small elf fast asleep under the tree. '_Why have you come?' _he thought, _'you should be warm in Rivendell, not out here in the cold.'_ He smiled warmly, however, secretly glad to have her with him. Pulling him from his thoughts, Haldir directed his attention to the map of Rohan and he forced himself to concentrate. 


	16. Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Sixteen: The Three Armies

The company trekked along the western edge of Mirkwood, heading south. They stopped briefly once on the way down, and made it to the south-western tip of the woods by the afternoon of the second day. They then made the somewhat perilous journey across the plains between Mirkwood and Lorien. Mélanyë did her best to keep up, but often fell to the back of the group. Lindir made sure that she stayed in front of him so that she didn't get left behind. 

They crossed the Anduin and into the Golden Wood just as the sun was setting and met up with more elves, the army of Lorien. The leaders once again got together and discussed their plans. Mélanyë saw Haldir greet the Galadhrim warmly, and spoke immediately with someone who she thought was his lieutenant. 

He was tall like the others, but she noticed with surprise that his hair was dark like hers, rather than the usual silver of the Galadhrim. He had keen grey eyes, and she saw them pass critically over the other elves, finally resting on her. Several emotions showed on his face, ranging from curiosity to alarm. 

Lindir was again called over, and as he neared, the dark-haired elf stopped him and they spoke. The two talked for a moment and she saw him gesture in her direction. Mélanyë turned away and went off by herself, not wishing to be scrutinized. She sat with her back against a huge Mallorn and rested her forehead on her knees, listening to all the conversations around her.

"_Mae Govannen,_" She looked up and saw the dark haired-elf crouching inches in front of her and started in surprise. She had been concentrating so much on the others' voices that she had not heard his approach. "My name is Aldamir."

"Mélanyë," she said, feeling her heart go back to its normal speed. He gave her a mysterious grin.

"Lindir said you are a halfling." He scanned her with his piercing gaze. "Why are you here with us?"

"I'm also an elf," she said. "And my reason for being here is just as good as yours." 

"I am here because it is my duty. Is it yours also?" She paused and thought for a moment. She perceived, as she studied him, that Aldamir was young, possibly closer to her age, if not a little older. She sensed no motive to his question, if only curiosity. She thought about it and gave the only answer that seemed truthful to her.

"Yes."

The three Elven armies spent the day organizing themselves and so camped where they had met up with the Galadhrim, just inside the north-eastern borders. Mélanyë and Aldamir talked as they ate a light lunch, and she was glad for the company, as Lindir was occupied with the others. The two became fast friends, and she learned all about Uruviel, his wife, and of the strange Orcs that have been seen on the borders. She spoke to him of her home and of Frodo and Bilbo.

"Bilbo!" she cried. "I didn't even have a chance to say goodbye to him!" He smiled and put a hand on her shoulder.

"I'm sure he'll understand."

Later, Aldamir went out for what he thought may be his last walk among Mallorns for some time, and took Mélanyë with him. On the way they found some fallen branches, which he collected.

"We could make some extra arrows while we wait for the others," he said. She agreed to help and they spent the morning making Lorien arrows. They sat side by side, Aldamir carving the shaft, and Mélanyë finishing them off with tips and feathers. She sighed and picked up another arrow.

"I wish I knew how to shoot," she said, more to herself than for conversation. Aldamir paused in his work.

"You mean you don't know how?" he asked in amazement.

"Well," she paused as she attached a feather to the shaft, "My mother taught me how to use a bow, but I'm not very good. I never hit what I aim for." Aldamir dropped the arrow he'd been carving and stood. 

"Where's your bow?" he asked. She looked to the ground and began to play with the feather in her hand.

"I...I don't have one," she said quietly. An amused smile spread across Aldamir's face and he unhooked the bow from his back.

"It's hard to practice without one," he said, handing it to her. "It's a bit big for you, but it will have to do."

He spent the rest of the day teaching her how to shoot as the Galadhrim. She was a fast learner, and by nightfall could hit most of her targets on the first try. 

"Now just think how much easier that will be with your own bow," he said as they brought back all the arrows. He looked down at their abandoned task and grinned. 

_"Well,"_ he thought, "_we'll have less arrows, but at least we have another archer."_

That evening, after they had eaten, the elves relaxed around the campfire in the middle of the clearing. Haldir had decided that Mélanyë was going to learn how to fight, so the two were practicing while some of the others looked on. Lindir and Aldamir were sitting against a large tree at the edge of the clearing, Lindir watching the fight intently, and Aldamir carving a curved tree branch.

Haldir swung at her head, but she saw the blow and caught his wrist. She made to kick him in the side, but he in turn caught her by the ankle and flipped her onto her stomach.

"You learn fast," he said, smiling as she got to her feet. She was enjoying her lesson, but she'd hit the ground hard. She shook it off and suddenly broke into a run, barrelling right into Haldir and knocking him to the ground. She heard somewhere behind her Aldamir laughing as she and Haldir rolled around trying to pin each other down. At last, he won and held her face down in the grass. 

"Had enough?" he laughed. In answer, she brought her leg up and caught him in his side, knocking him off balance just enough so that she could squirm out from under him. She got to her feet, feeling pleased with herself, but saw that Haldir was crouched on the ground holding his ribs where she'd kicked him. 

"Haldir!" she cried, running to him. When she got near, he kicked her in the stomach. He was careful not to hurt her, but pushed hard enough that she fell backwards. He got up and knelt beside her. He was smiling, but his tone was serious.

"Show no mercy, Mel," he said. "There is no word for it in Black Speech." He helped her to her feet and continued with the lesson.

Lindir was watching the fight carefully. He'd nearly gotten up to help Mel when Haldir had knocked her down, but quickly reminded himself that it was just an exercise. He could hear Aldamir beside him, carving something.

"So, are you going to tell her?" Aldamir asked, breaking the silence. Lindir watched him carefully carve another long stroke in the wood before answering.

"'Tell her' what?" Aldamir paused his work and looked the other elf in the eye.

"You may have been able to fool her _mellon_, but the rest of us can read you like a book." He went back to his work. Lindir paused, thinking.

"No," he said finally. "I'm not." Aldamir smiled.

"And how long are you going to wait, exactly?" Lindir watched the other elf change his strokes, taking smaller shavings from the wood and smoothing out the corners. 

"She's too young." he said after a long pause. "She can never know. It's not right."

"_Not_ telling her is what's not right," he said. "Look at her! She's not a child, she'll understand."

"She is to me!" Lindir snapped a bit too sharply. Realizing that he'd raised his voice, and that others might have heard him, he softened his tone. "I practically raised her. I can't be thinking these things."

"Her mother raised her, Lindir. Don't punish yourself because you happened to have been born first." Aldamir carved another long shaving out of the wood as he spoke. "And how do you know she's not having the same thoughts?" Lindir didn't respond right away, he looked back to the fight. After a moment he glanced back at Aldamir.

"What are you making, anyway?" Aldamir laughed and continued his project.


	17. Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Seventeen: Secrets Revealed 

The moon was high above when Mélanyë woke to the sound of clashing swords. She bolted upright, still shaking off the last bits of sleep, but realized that the camp was quiet. To her left through the trees, however, she could still hear what sounded like a fight. Cautiously she crept to the edge of the trees and peered into a smaller clearing part way inside. There she saw Lindir and Aldamir, practicing. Now that she knew there was no danger, she inched closer and watched. 

Their technique was flawless. Each move seemed practiced and each strike was fluid and perfect. She found herself drawn in to their deadly dance as she looked on, transfixed by the beauty of it. Every few moments the moonlight was caught and reflected in their bright swords and flashed at her, making her blink, but she dared not look away, fearing that she'd miss something. She memorized every thrust and block and parry, learning as much as she could from these two who she thought the best. 

After what seemed like hours their fight ended, and they came towards the woods where she still crouched. In a panic, she hid behind the tree and waited for them to pass. After she was sure they were gone, she looked behind her and saw to her shock, Lindir crouching beside her. She gasped in surprise. 

"What are we hiding from?" he whispered. She let out the breath she'd been holding. 

"You...and Aldamir." Lindir chuckled softly. "I was watching you...that was beautiful." 

"_Mel_, you should be sleeping!" he said. "We only rest for you." Mélanyë frowned at this. 

"I though Haldir said I would be treated equally," she said. 

"Well, we need to rest also, but you are the only one who needs sleep." 

He led her back to where she had been sleeping and looked up to the sky. He saw the bright crescent shine down on him with a glowing halo around it_. 'It's going to get colder tonight,'_ he thought. He picked up an extra blanket and handed it to Mélanyë. 

"It will be very cold tonight, Mel, you'll need this." She nodded and took the blanket. She was about to thank him when something caught her eye. 

_"Ai, Eärendil!" _she cried, pointing to the bright light above. Some of the others nearby looked up at her cry. She gazed up at the stars in awe. They glittered sharp and clear above in the vast sky. "There's so many tonight! And _Eärendil_ is so bright." Lindir pointed and she followed his hand. 

"_Valacirca_," he said, and began pointing out all the constellations he could remember. They lay down on the grass under the blanket he'd brought and gazed at the heavens in wonder, pointing at the stars and telling stories of Varda the Starkindler and of the Elves of old. Slowly, the conversation died away, and they just lay together. 

Lindir looked over to Mélanyë beside him, expecting her to be asleep, but saw her eyes wide, dazzled by the lights of heaven. He noticed her shivering, even under the heavy blanket and hugged her. She lay her head on his chest as they continued to admire the stars. 

"Lindir," she whispered. 

"Yes?" 

"I love you." He squeezed her tighter and planted a kiss in her hair. 

"I love you too, _Meldanya_," he said. She looked up into his eyes but then hesitated. Gathering her courage, she brought her lips to his and kissed him softly, their lips barely meeting. He closed his eyes, thinking himself in some wonderful dream, and when he opened them found himself trapped in her gaze. 

"_Mel_," he whispered in awe, "why did you do that?" 

"Why didn't you?" she whispered back. He searched her eyes in wonder, and discovered deep wells of emotion that for so long she had hid from him. He realized then that all his attempts to hide his feelings from her had failed. She'd seen as clearly as Aldamir had how much he loved her. 

"Mel..." he said again, but could find no words. He buried his hands in her dark hair and kissed her. 

The next morning dawned bright and clear as Mélanyë and Lindir lay together. He was awake, stroking her hair and watching her soft breathing. Behind him he heard the other elves stirring, and knew they'd soon be looking for him. Turning back to Mélanyë he kissed her and then got up to leave. She stirred at his touch, and held onto his hand. Their eyes locked for a long moment. Smiling, he leaned down, kissed her again, and left. 

Lindir joined the others as they prepared for the morning's work. He spotted Aldamir and walked over to him. He was polishing a small bow. He noticed that the other elf was grinning at him. 

"What?" he asked. Aldamir shook his head, his grin widening as he walked away. 

Aldamir found Mélanyë as she was finishing packing the rest of her things. She looked up as he approached, and immediately spotted the bow in his hands. He held it out to her. 

"This is for you," he said. She took it reverently, looking it over with wide eyes. "It's made from the wood of a Mallorn- very strong. I don't think we have time to practice with it, bu-" He was cut off as she hugged him. He smiled and hugged her back. 

"Aldamir..." she said, inspecting the bow again. "This is beautiful! How did you do this so fast?" He didn't answer, but crouched in front of her as she looked over the weapon. It was made of the light smooth wood of a Mallorn, and its graceful curves were adorned with Tangwar. The elven script was burned into the polished wood and ran down the length of the small bow. She traced their graceful lines with her finger. _'May your arrows always find their mark'_ it said. She smiled, remembering all the targets she'd missed during practice. 

She looked up at him, trying to find some way to express the sheer gratitude she felt at the gift. He smiled, reading every ounce of it in her eyes. 

"You're welcome," he said. He produced an extra harness and began to shorten it to fit her smaller frame. After hooking the bow and a quiver of arrows onto her back, he stood and looked her over. 

"There! Now you actually look like a soldier." She laughed. 

"Thank you, Aldamir," she said, noting that the bow didn't weigh her down at all. "I feel like one too." 

The company at last departed the Golden Wood that day, heading south for Fangorn Forest. They crossed the distance between the two woods with some unease, however, after the Galadhrim had reported more strange Orcs encroaching on the borders. Several times Mélanyë saw Aldamir and Haldir whispering to each other, noting the two elves' apprehension. There was a mix of relief and dread at reaching the borders of Fangorn. Many in the group had heard the stories of the trees with voices, and were not at all interested in meeting them. Mélanyë looked up at the trees in wonder and fear, seeing their age plainly in the gnarled boughs. She held Lindir's hand as the elves entered the forest. 

"We'll camp here tonight," Haldir addressed the circle of elves as they crouched over the map of Rohan. "We're nearing the borders and should reach Edoras by tomorrow night." 

"We should set a watch around the camp tonight," Aldamir suggested. Lindir looked up and caught a fleeting look between Haldir and his lieutenant. Was that worry? 

"Agreed," said Haldir, pointing at Aldamir. "You and Gaelen take the first watch. Cirinath and I will relieve you and Lindir and Tirian will take the third watch." All those who had been named nodded and the meeting ended. 

Haldir leaned against a tree and rested. As he sat he closed his eyes and let his mind wander. He thought of Lórien his home, and the Lady he served. He remembered how grieved she had been when she sent him on this mission. She hadn't wished to put any elves in danger but knew that it the Quest of the Ringbearer failed, all elves, men, dwarves, halflings and other creatures of Arda would be in danger. Haldir had deemed it a risk that was impossible to ignore. 

A smile spread on his face as he thought of halflings. The four he'd met months ago in Lorien had seemed as children to him. Brave children, to be sure, but still young and naive to the dangers of the world. The dark haired one named Frodo, however, he had seemed as one who knew all too well what was really happening. 

"Haldir," Aldamir broke into his thoughts. Haldir opened his eyes with a start and realized that second watch had begun. 

"Thank you, _Mellon_, I was lost in thought." The younger elf smiled. 

"We all do that sometimes." He looked over his shoulder and then back at Haldir. The smile was gone. 

"What is it, Aldamir?" 

"I've seen more tracks," he whispered. "I haven't told Gaelen because I didn't want to raise alarm." Haldir nodded. 

"Many things live in these woods that we do not know about. Are you sure they were not animal tracks?" Aldamir nodded. 

"They look the same as the tracks we found on the borders of Lórien," he said. "And it looks like they're following us." Haldir stood immediately. 

"Show me." 

Aldamir led Haldir through the camp to where he'd seen the tracks, in the direction they had been travelling from. As they passed through, Haldir looked around him at all the elves, his army, at rest. Some were leaning against trees, some lying flat on their backs, others were talking softly. Some had their eyes closed, others were staring at the stars. He smiled as he saw them, but then stopped. Far removed from the others, on the edge of the camp, he saw Lindir and Mélanyë. 

The two were curled up closely together under a blanket, sleeping. Haldir walked closer to them and watched as they slept, oblivious to the danger that he may find when Aldamir showed him what he'd seen. He smiled to himself as he looked on them. He'd known right away that they were in love the first time he saw them in Rivendell. When they caught her following them, all he could think of was how much she must love him to have put herself at such a risk. He had seen it in her eyes- she couldn't bear to part with him. He had also seen, as he trained her, that she was far stronger that he, or even she knew herself. 

"Haldir, this way," Aldamir whispered as he took his arm. He nodded, took one last look at the blissful lovers, and followed. 

Without lifting his head Lindir looked up as Haldir passed. He noticed the other elf's agitation and wondered what he was thinking. His first instinct was to get up and find out what was going on, maybe Haldir had seen or heard something to cause alarm, but then looked down at Mélanyë in his arms. It could wait until morning. 

As he watched her she stirred in her sleep and looked up at him, clutching his arm tightly as if frightened. "What is it?" he whispered softly. The fear was now very clear in her brown eyes. 

"Lindir..." she whispered back as if just remembering his name. She looked around her frantically before letting out a relieved sigh. "There were Orcs," she explained, "they were everywhere, and," she stopped and looked in his eyes. "You're okay?" He smiled and hugged her tight. 

"I'm alright, Mel, you were only dreaming." He kissed her forehead and stroked her hair. "There are no Orcs here, we're still far from where we're going." She looked up at him for a long moment, trying desperately to believe him. 

"I hope so," she whispered. She seemed to relax slightly, but the fear did not leave her voice. "But it was so real," she said after a moment. "I'm so scared, Lindir!" 

"Shhh..." he cupped her face with his hands as wiped away the tears on her cheeks. "Don't worry, Mel. I'll never let anything happen to you," he said. He kissed her then, softly at first, but soon their kiss deepened into a passionate expression of the love they had felt for each other for so long. In the back of her mind, however, where remnants of her nightmare still haunted her, she was troubled that it may be her last chance to do so. 


	18. Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Eighteen: Ambush

Mélanyë sat by herself in the grass, idly fingering her bow. She had woken up alone, but that didn't surprise her since Lindir told her he had to take a watch. She had hoped to have forgotten her dream from the night before, but the images were still as vivid as ever. She tried to think of happy memories - her home, the Shire, the dwarf city in the Lonely Mountain - but nothing helped. All she could think of was how horrible the Orcs looked and the terrible destruction they'd caused. In all her distress, however, it never occurred to her to speak to Haldir about it, to tell him of the Orcs she'd seen here, in Fangorn Forest, even if it were a dream. 

Her thoughts strayed from her dream to the image of her brother's face. She suddenly felt terribly guilty for nearly forgetting him. In her mind she saw him on the edge of a grey and desolate land filled with sadness and peril. The reminder of Frodo's quest made her own problems seem small and meaningless to her. What did one bad dream compare to the constant nightmare that he soon faced?

A tear fell onto her hand and startled her from her thoughts. She looked down at it and saw another fall onto the arc of her bow. She hadn't realized she'd been crying. Looking up, she saw the elven army around her, preparing for war. Elves tall and brave, and as she watched them she felt like a child. 

'_What am I doing here?'_ she thought, and immediately a voice from somewhere inside replied, '_you're here to help Frodo.'_ The argument was over before it had started. She stood and replaced the bow on her back. Gripping her sword-hilt, she told herself over and over again, '_I can do this'_

Just then she heard a rustling in the trees behind her, but far away. A glance at Haldir showed that he had heard it too. He was standing alert, and listened intently at the woods. Aldamir was beside him, and the two were whispering back and forth. Lindir saw her and ran over to her. 

"What's going on?" she asked him. He shook his head.

"Haldir thinks he heard something in the woods." He looked around suspiciously. "I thought I heard some rustling, but it could be just the wind."

"I heard it too," she said, pointing behind her. Lindir frowned.

"He said it came from over there," he said pointing in front of them in the opposite direction. "Maybe it-"

"Yrch!" Haldir cried suddenly, "It's an ambush! We're surrounded!" Immediately the entire camp was up and battle-ready. Mélanyë felt her heart sink to her feet. _'My dream,' _she thought, _'This is how it started...'_ She took Lindir roughly by the arm and forced him to look at her.

"Lindir," she cried, "It wasn't a dream!" Lindir looked into her eyes and swallowed hard. He looked up to the others drawing swords and fitting arrows to their bowstrings, then back to her dark eyes. 

"Draw your bow, Mélanyë," His voice faltered as he spoke to her. She had told him what happened in her dream. He knew as well as she did how it ended. She drew her bow as he'd told her and the two stood side by side aiming arrows into the darkness. The rustling sounds drew nearer, now no more than twenty feet away at most. 

"Lindir?"

"Yes?"

"I'm scared."

"Me too."

"Lindir?"

"What?"

"I love you."

"I love you too-" He was cut off as the first Uruk-Hai barreled out of the forest towards the two elves. Mélanyë closed her eyes and let go of her arrow. When she opened them she saw that it had plunged in almost to the feathers in the Orc's chest. 

Beside her, Lindir's bow sang as more and more Orcs poured out of the darkness. Mélanyë, now back inside her nightmare, remembered every arrow, every movement around her from the night before. She continued to fire her arrows, however, thinking to herself that maybe she could change what she knew would happen. 

The two elves were an excellent team, but they were being driven steadily backwards, and the enemy's numbers seemed endless. Lindir soon ran out of arrows, and drew his sword. Mélanyë still had a few left and used them to keep the other Orcs from coming at Lindir from behind. Without warning, she felt a savage blow to her head and was knocked to the ground. 

_'No! This wasn't how it happened!_'

She quickly scrambled out of the way before her attacker could strike again. By the time she had drawn her sword, the Orc that had assaulted her was on the ground with an arrow in its back. Looking up, she saw Haldir give her a quick salute before turning to fight again. 

That's when it happened. Behind her, Lindir gave a horrible cry. She turned in time to see him fall to his knees beneath a huge Uruk-Hai. Her feet turned to stone as she stared in disbelief at the hideous beast looming over her beloved. A sudden and fierce rage surged through the small elf and she ran, sword drawn towards Lindir's attacker. He swung his blade at her head and she ducked it with ease. She met all of his blows just as she'd been taught, but he was just too powerful and soon had her pinned to the grass. Before he could deliver the death blow, she slipped Elrohir's dagger from its sheath and plunged it up to the hilt into its neck. The thing made a hideous gurgling noise before falling beside her, dead. 

For a long moment, Mélanyë lay frozen on the ground. Shakily she pulled herself to her feet and retrieved Laspis from where it had been flung into the brush. After sheathing it, she retrieved her dagger. That was when she saw the blood. Her hands were covered in the sticky black blood of the Orc that now lay dead at her feet. As she stared at them she felt her head spin and her knees buckle. Without thinking, she dropped the dagger and bolted into the forest, where she was sick at the foot of a large tree. 

Behind her, the battle still raged. She could hear far away, Haldir shouting orders, and the jarring sound of steel on steel. She knew she should be there helping them, but she was trapped in the horrible vision of the blood staining her hands. She wondered if she would ever get them clean again. She knelt there, weeping for Lindir, and for the innocence she lost the moment she had left her home. She wanted to hide from everything, to disappear into the night and wake up to see that it was all a dream. 

Ripping her from her grief, an arrow plunged into the tree inches from her head. Absurdly, she noticed that the shaft of the arrow was thicker around than her fingers. She turned just in time to see Aldamir slit the throat of a large Orc holding a cruel looking bow. Not even waiting for the creature to hit the ground, he ran over to the elf crouched by the tree. 

"What are you doing?" He shouted at her. As he neared, he saw her trembling and immediately softened his tone. "Are you all right?" he asked, crouching beside her. He began looking her over for injuries. "You're hurt!" The Orc that had knocked her down tore an angry gash just under her right eye. It was swollen and bleeding, but she hadn't felt any pain. It was all inside.

"I-" she stammered, "I just killed-" she couldn't finish the sentence, beginning to feel sick all over again. Aldamir looked into her eyes. 

"You can't ever let your guard down, Mélanyë," he told her, an edge creeping into his voice. She began to protest, but he cut her off. "I understand what you're feeling. They don't!" He pointed at the Orc beside them on the ground, frightening even in death. She swallowed hard and looked back at Aldamir. "I'm sorry about Lindir," He said in a much softer tone. He stood and retrieved her dagger from where she'd dropped it. Handing it back to her he added, "never turn your back on them for a second, or they'll kill you too."

She watched him run back to the battle. After she lost sight of him, she stumbled over to Lindir's body and fell to her knees. His eyes were staring up at the stars, but she saw no life in them. With a shaky sigh she closed them and brought his hands up to lay on his chest. She kissed him, and lay her head over his heart and closed her eyes. There was no heartbeat, nothing that revealed any life within him. Overcome with her grief, she buried her face in his chest and wept. 


	19. Chapter Ninteen

Chapter Nineteen: Victory and Loss

Mélanyë looked around her in awe. She stood in a vast stone hall of glittering walls and tall pillars. Lindir stood silently beside her. She knew he saw her but it was as if he was unable to look at her. Before them stood Mandos. 

He looked them over critically, first Lindir, then Mélanyë. She opened her mouth to speak, but Mandos raised a hand, and she felt herself pushed backwards.

_'Not you...'_

She opened her eyes with a start and found herself back in Fangorn Forest, laying over the body of her beloved. She felt her cheeks, and found her skin cold. Trembling, she looked back to Lindir's face that was now drained of all color. She grasped one of his hands, and dropped it suddenly. 

It felt like ice. 

Looking up she now saw that the eastern sky was growing light. She looked back to Lindir. _'This wasn't supposed to happen!'_ she lamented, caressing his face with her hand, _'It should have been me! It was me in the dream!'_ She picked up his hand again and clutched it to her chest, pressing her lips to his cold fingers. She felt warm tears slide down her face and watched as they fell like rain onto his tunic. At that moment she felt as if she had been struck by some fell blade and felt her heart breaking within her, thinking she would die beside him.

She looked down again at Lindir's hand in hers and saw them both stained red and black. She replaced Lindir's hand on his chest and drew Laspis. It shone a dim jade in the growing light and her small hand gripped the hilt tightly. Anger swelled in her once more. 

In blind fury she ran back to the battle, slaying any Orc who dared come near with swift efficiency. Fear was gone. She no longer cared for her own safety; all that mattered to her at that moment was avenging Lindir, vainly attempting to take back what had been stolen from her. The ground was littered with dead Orcs and the battle still raged fiercely, but she saw that the enemy's numbers were dwindling. 

She spotted her bow on the ground and in one fluid motion she picked it up, fitted it with an arrow and fired at the Orc that was running towards her. It fell dead not two metres in front of her. Reaching for another arrow, she found her quiver empty. Without thinking, she pulled an arrow from the nearest dead Orc and fired it at another that had come up behind her. It struck it in the shoulder, and the thing pulled it out. Before she could draw Laspis, the huge creature knocked her to the ground. Desperately trying to remember her training, she pulled herself to her feet and fought with it until finally she had it on the ground where she could stab it with her sword.

Several more Orcs came at her, and she managed to dispatch with each of them, but the battles began to take their toll on her quickly. She was bruised all over, and the blow to the head began to impair her vision. Black spots swam over her eyes and she staggered through the battlefield. 

Another large Uruk attacked from behind and knocked her down. Dazed, it took her a second to react. She rolled under the huge beast and stabbed its leg with her sword. Not waiting for it to attack, she scrambled to her feet and with all of her strength, shoved the creature to the ground After stabbing it in the chest with her elven blade, she turned away, disgusted. The sight of the dead Orc stayed with her, however, and she felt her stomach turn.

"No...not again.." she groaned and swallowed hard. She saw the other Orc charging towards her just in time to block the blow aimed at her head. What she didn't see was the dagger in it's other hand which it stabbed into her side. She cried out and stumbled backwards, falling over the dead Orc behind her as blinding pain seared her abdomen. Suddenly she felt herself overcome with an extreme weariness and realized that she couldn't get up. Looking up, she saw her attacker raise its blade for the death blow and she closed her eyes to accept her fate. The blow never came. Opening her eyes, she blearily saw an arrow buried in the Orc's neck before giving in to the darkness. 

A red dawn stained the sky when Mélanyë woke. The first thing she was aware of was the pain. Her entire body ached, and her side was on fire. Memories of the battle flooded back to her: images of Lindir's lifeless eyes, dead Orcs, and her own hands stained with blood. Her stomach turned once more and she groaned. Almost immediately, a silver haired elf with a kind but worried face hovered over her. 

"You're awake," he said. "You've been wounded, but you'll be all right." He began to peel back a layer of cloth that covered her left side. When she looked down at what the other elf was doing she wished she hadn't. The entire front of her tunic was stained dark red. The elf took a clean cloth and began to tend to the wound. 

Trying to take her mind off the pain, she slowly turned her head away and saw the other elves busily clearing away the last remnants of the battle. There were piles of used arrows being sorted and cleaned, Orcs being dragged away and, she guessed, burned. "_Such a mess_," she thought, "_how will the earth ever be clean again?_"

"There, now," the elf said, grabbing her attention. "That should feel a little better." It did. Whatever he'd done, the fire had reduced itself to a dull ache. She thanked him and asked his name. "Ganya, a healer of Mirkwood."

She nodded and tried to sit up, but Ganya held her down. "I wouldn't do that just yet," he said. "You need to heal. You'll be off your feet for a week at least." 

She finally gave in and lay back. She was exhausted anyway. She looked up as she heard footsteps approaching. It was Haldir. She closed her eyes, preparing herself for what she knew was coming.

"How is she?" he asked Ganya. The other elf stood and spoke to Haldir in a lowered tone so she couldn't hear. She was suddenly fearful. How bad was it if he didn't want her to hear? Shouldn't he be telling her this as well? Haldir knelt beside her.

"Mélanyë," he said, "We're preparing to leave soon."

"Ganya said I shouldn't be getting up for a few days." she said, but knew what he would say even as she spoke.

"You're not coming." She opened her mouth to protest, but he silenced her with his hand. "You've been injured," he reasoned, "all that waits for you if you go on is another battle, and this time you may not survive." She tried to think of some way to argue with him, but there was none. She knew he was right, and at once both relief and despair filled her heart. She'd thought that if she went to fight for men, that she'd be helping Frodo somehow. But in that moment, she remembered how insistent he was that she not go with him, as far as he knew, to their deaths. How could she now go willingly to certain death, when her brother would not risk her to an uncertain one? If she went to Helm's Deep, she knew she would not come back. Looking at Haldir, she gave in. He nodded, placed a comforting hand on her shoulder, and left. 

She slept most of the day, and talked long with Ganya. He was a healer of Mirkwood, as he'd said, and a master of herblore. She asked him if he'd ever heard of Tobold of Longbottom. He smiled and told her that he specialized in _healing_ herbs. 

That evening she woke suddenly from an uneasy sleep. Aldamir was kneeling beside her, watching her in the growing dark. She felt his eyes on her and turned to see who was there. 

"We're almost ready to leave," he said softly. Silence hung between them. 

"You didn't come here to tell me that," she said finally. He sighed.

"No, I didn't." He held her eyes with his. "Lindir," he paused, searching for words. "You need to say goodbye to him." She felt tears sting her eyes at the mention of his name. She looked over at Ganya, who stood nearby against a tree with his arms folded. He nodded to her. Aldamir took her hand and lifted her up, and immediately the pain in her side worsened. She stumbled, but he supporter her, and led her to the clearing where the shrouded still figures of four elves lay. The others stood around them, heads bowed in silent mourning. Aldamir brought her next to Lindir and did the same. 

Mélanyë studied Lindir's cloak at her feet. She knew his face would be ashen white under it, remembering how he'd looked earlier before she'd left him. Guilt rooted itself deep in her heart at the thought of leaving him, even for her own safety. Tears began to bathe her cheeks and fall to the grass below. The cut under her eye began to sting but she ignored it. 

Without realizing it, she began to sing. Softly, at first, but soon her voice rose in a tearful lament for her lost friend. The Melody was the same that she'd heard in the halls of King Thranduil, as his harpist Liofa had played for her and the dwarves so long ago. She sang of lost joy and parting friends. As her song rose and fell, it seemed to her that the world had dropped away, and all that was left was her and Lindir.

She returned to reality as she felt Aldamir's hand squeeze her shoulder in comfort. It was then that she realized that they'd all been listening to her. Countless pairs of eyes, some glistening with unshed tears were on the small elf and she fell silent. The moon, she saw, was high above them in the dark sky and she realized she'd been singing for over an hour. She bowed her head and Haldir spoke.

"Four brave warriors have died in battle. Their sacrifice will be remembered among the elves in song long after the Enemy has been vanquished and his evil long forgotten." He paused and looked down at the two still forms. "They will be missed."


	20. Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty: Ganya

"Mel! Come and see!" Lindir led her by the hand over the bridge to their favorite spot near the waterfall. They carefully walked across the thin ledge of rock to a small cave beside the cascade of glittering water. Lindir pointed at the mist. "Watch."

As the sun sank, its final rays were caught in the fine mist around the waterfall, fracturing into a million shades of orange and gold. Falling further into the horizon, the sun changed the shimmering colors to deep reds and purples. Somewhere, far away, she could hear music playing. It seemed to be carried on the water, and she smiled as she heard it._ I didn't know Liofa was in Rivendell_, she thought, as she picked out the familiar Melody.

"Oh, Lindir! This is beautiful!" she looked over to her friend beside her, but he was frowning. "What is it?"

"Are you ready to talk to me?" he asked in a serious tone that seemed somewhat out of place to her in this moment. "Or shall we pretend that there's nothing wrong?" She sighed and studied her hands.

"No. Not yet." The two sat in silence for several moments, staring at the setting sun.

"I spoke to Haldir," he said finally. "He doesn't want you going any more than I do." He took her arm, and she looked at him in surprise. His hand felt like ice. "He asked me to talk to you. He thought you would listen to me." She stared into his dark eyes until he released his grip.

"I've made my decision," she said firmly. She paused, trying to put her feelings into words. "I need to do something, Lindir. I can't stay here and wait, knowing what others are sacrificing so that I can live in peace."

"You can't help him." he said, startling her. "Frodo didn't want you to go with him for this very reason!" 

"How can I enjoy anything in my life again, knowing what my freedom cost him...and you." She countered. "I can't just wait here for everything to be okay."

"But you could get hurt! What would I do if something were to happen to you?" She smiled slightly and took one of his hands. 

"How could anything hurt me with you by my side?" He sighed and placed his other hand on hers. They sat like this for a long moment looking into the falls.

"I can't protect you forever," he said without looking away. His words startled her. She looked into his eyes and her heart stopped. They were grey.

_Like Ganya's..._

"Lindir..." she felt a sudden pain in her side. She touched it, and her hand glistened red as she held it up to the light of the dying sun.

_This is wrong..._

She looked up at him and stared. She saw him, but didn't recognize him. He was dressed in his elvish armor, but the front of it was stained black, and is hair was tangled and muddy. As she watched, the color in his face slowly drained away. 

"I'm sorry, Mel," he said. She barely heard him, still staring at his face.

_So pale, Lindir...why so pale?_

Dimly, she noticed that the music had stopped, and that she could no longer hear the falls. As she looked around her, she saw that she was no longer in Rivendell, but in Fangorn Forest, and she was holding her bow.

_"Mélanyë..."_

Lindir was fighting an Orc, and without thinking, she shot it with the arrow she'd had drawn. Another came out of the forest towards him, and again she shot it. Suddenly she was struck to the ground.

_Nooo...please..._

She rolled away from her attacker and drew her sword, but the Orc was already dead in front of her. Looking up, she saw Ganya salute to her. She looked to him in confusion.

_"Mélanyë, wake up..."_

As Ganya watched her, she turned to help Lindir, but was held back by some invisible barrier. 

_'Not you...'_

All she could do was watch as her best friend fought alone. She turned away from the battle in fear, but then she heard the painful cry.

"Mélanyë!" Ganya shouted as he shook the girl in her sleep. She was trapped inside her own nightmare. Her hair was drenched with sweat and she was thrashing about, fighting an imagined enemy with weak fists. 

"Lindir...no...not again..." she murmured. Suddenly she sat up with cry. Ganya caught her in his arms and held her as she wept on his shoulder. All he could do was rub her back and whisper soothing words in her ear. 

She'd been having the same nightmares for nearly a week now, ever since the funeral. Usually Ganya was able to wake her from the terrible visions, but this time she hadn't awakened in almost two days. Ganya had been tending to her constantly, day and night, but she only got worse. 

After the funeral, those who were going on to Helm's Deep had departed. Mélanyë said her last goodbyes to Aldamir and Haldir, and stayed behind with the healers. The wounded were then taken at an easy pace to heal in Lothlorien. Just before they'd arrived, she fell into a deep sleep that nothing would bring her out of. Ganya had tried everything in his power to wake her, but there was nothing he could do. 

He looked into her eyes, and saw that they were swollen and bloodshot. They looked almost black in the dim candle light. 

"Was it the same?" he asked her. 

"It's always the same," she whispered. He sighed softly and hugged her again. He couldn't understand it. She had grieved for Lindir. Why was she having nightmares? Why was she doomed to relive his last moments over and over again to her torment? His heart ached for her. He wished, as he had done every day since she had been placed in his care, that there was something he could do for her. The healer felt as helpless as the patient.

He reached over to a table beside them and picked up a wafer of Lembas. "Eat this," he told her. She shook her head. "Eat!" he commanded gently, "You need your strength. You've been asleep for almost two days." She protested some more, but finally relented and ate a piece of the bread he held in front of her. In his other hand he produced a cup. "Water too," he said. She drained it obediently. "Feel better?' She nodded hesitantly.

"Thank you, Li-" for a heartbeat they both froze. "Ganya." An awkward silence fell between them. At length, he rose.

"Ganya," she called after him. "What is wrong with me?" she asked him. He turned and met her eyes. 

"I don't know," he said. "You're wounds are healing. This is something that I cannot fix." He came to sit beside her. "You're hurting inside. All I can do is comfort you. You have to heal yourself." She avoided his eyes and was silent. "Do you want to talk?" She started at his words, and looked into his grey eyes. For an instant, it was Lindir, not Ganya, who looked back at her, but then the vision was gone. She looked away and stared into the flame of a candle burning on the table beside her.

"No," she said. "Not yet."

Days passed and Mélanyë lay in dark despair that no one could lift. Ganya tried repeatedly to talk with her, but each time she refused. She lay now, staring through the roof of her tent at the mallorn branches above her, silent tears falling to her pillow. Her thoughts were ever on Lindir, and his last moments. She blamed herself for not being there, being too busy defending herself that she let him die. She felt the wound at her side with her hand, telling herself bitterly that she deserved much worse. 

_'It should have been me...It was supposed to be me!'_

Somewhere, deep inside, was a part of her that was still untouched by sadness and pain, and it struggled to the surface.

'_It's not your fault,'_ it said. '_There was nothing you could have done...'_ Dimly, she saw Lindir's face. It was his voice she'd heard. She shook her head.

_'I should have said something..told Haldir about my dream...I could have-'_

_'What? What could you have done? Do you think anyone would have believed your dreams? It would have changed nothing.'_

_'I could have warned them…'_

_'You would have felt even worse if they didn't believe you.'_

_'But I could have at least tried!' _She was silent for several moments, feeling wretched for getting angry, even if she wasn't really speaking to anyone. She wasn't sure if it was the spirit of Lindir himself who was telling her this, or simply her memories of him, but she was glad to in some small way, be able to talk with him. 

_'I can't go on without you.'_ she lamented silently.

_'Yes you can. You've been on your own since you left Imladris...'_

_'Lindir-'_

_'You're stronger than this. You can't go on this way. You have to let me go.'_

"But I can't!" She shouted at the empty room, scaring herself. She sat up and looked around, half expecting to see Lindir sitting at the edge of the bed, but she was alone. After a moment, Ganya appeared in the doorway.

"Mélanyë, are you all right?" The concern was plain in his eyes.

_'Talk to him'_

She was silent. Ganya came in and sat beside her.

_'Talk to him, Mel, he understands...'_

_'How could he understand?' _she thought bitterly, _'he doesn't know what I'm feeling...he can't...'_

_'Are you so sure?'_

"A long time ago," Ganya startled her from her thoughts. She listened, not daring to meet his eyes. "Long before you, or perhaps even your mother were born, I had a family."

_'How does he know-'_

_'Ssshh...listen...'_

"I had a wife. And a son." he smiled wanly. "He wanted to be a healer just like his father. We were travelling south on an errand when we were attacked by goblins. All I had with me was the small knife I use for cutting herbs." He paused for a long time, and Mélanyë saw his eyes glisten in the candlelight. "I was barely alive when the others found me. And Linwëlin and Finrandir..." he paused, looking at his hands, trying to keep them from trembling. He finally looked up, and the anguish she saw in them rent her heart. "You are not alone in your grief, Mélanyë," he said. A heavy silence hung between them. 

"There was nothing you could have done," she whispered. He smiled sadly.

"I wish someone had been there to say that two centuries ago." Mélanyë stared at him, shocked. 

_'Are you ready to talk now?'_

There was a long silence. She thought of all the horrible things she'd seen and done since she'd left her home in Rivendell. She realized that she could barely remember the girl who had listened intently to Bilbo's songs in the Hall of Fire, had danced with the dwarves in the Lonely Mountain. Where could she have gone? At last, just as Ganya stood, she spoke. 

"It was my fault," she said. He turned towards her. "If I had gone back for him..."

"You would have died beside him," he finished for her. He paused to let his words sink in. "What would his sacrifice have been worth if you had let yourself be slain? What would he say if he knew you were here, barely alive, trapped in your despair?" She was silent. She waited for Lindir's voice, pleading silently for him to give her the words to answer Ganya, but none came.


	21. Chapter TwentyOne

Chapter Twenty-One: Saying Goodbye

Mélanyë and Lindir sat on the forest floor facing each other. Around them, the tall Mallorns of Lorien stretched their boughs up to the shining stars. The two stared into each other's eyes, their hands clasped together between them. She squeezed his hand and felt the warmth of life in him. They gazed at each other, seconds turning into hours. 

"I'm sorry," she whispered, her small voice breaking in the stillness. He squeezed her hands in return.

"It wasn't your fault." She felt her throat tighten as hot tears sprang in her eyes. He reached out and softly caressed her cheek with his warm hand. She closed her eyes, tears bouncing down her face as she grasped his hand in hers. 

"I have to go," he said. She opened her eyes again, struggling to calm her breathing and fighting back more tears. 

"I know." They stood and he hugged her tightly. He cupped her face in his hands and kissed her long and deep. 

"_Namarië, Meldanya," _he whispered, and as headed towards the forest, she let go of his hand. 

The next morning Mélanyë woke in a different spirit. She felt free of something she hadn't known she carried. The deep sadness and despair had left her and she looked around her at Lorien with a new wonder.

She had stayed in Lorien for close to a month and had fully healed, at least physically. The cut on her face was gone, but a faint scar remained to remind her of her first taste of war. She had been given new clothes and was now dressed as one of the Galadhrim. She would have been excited at the gift, had it not been bought at such a high price.

She went for a walk about the forest after having a bit to eat and found Ganya by the shores of the Anduin. She came and sat beside him, and the two sat in silence together for several minutes. She looked into the rippling water and watched as the reflection of the glowing sunrise was rent by the flowing tide. Beneath the surface she could see a small school of fish flitting about in the water. The golden light reached them through the waves and struck their shining scales, blue, green and silver. 

Then a strange, yet familiar feeling came over Mélanyë. She didn't recognize it right away, but wondered at it, until slowly she felt a small smile work its way out onto her face. She then realized that this feeling, which she hadn't felt fully for over a month, was peace. She looked around her at the cool, quiet morning, and up at the rising sun before them, and allowed herself to feel the joy of the moment. Almost, she had forgotten her grief.

"This was our favorite spot," Ganya said quietly. She looked to him and saw that he too, was smiling. "I met my wife here long ago. I was visiting Lorien for the first time and I saw her standing by the shore. She looked so beautiful I thought she was a dream, or a vision of Uinen." He paused, smiling at the memory. "She would always come here, picking lillies from the river and listening for the songs of Ulmo. She loved the waters and dreamed of one day sailing to Valinor."

"My mother loved water too," Mélanyë said quietly. "Whenever it rained she would rush outside and stand in the open until she was soaked through. She taught me to swim, and told me that Lindir had taught her long ago." The smile that had appeared so briefly on her face faded as she remembered. "Later, when she was sick, the healers decided it would be best for her to go to the Blessed Realm and seek healing from the Valar." She looked down and began to play with her ring. "I wanted to go with her, but she said that it wasn't my time to go. I never really understood what she meant." There was a moment of silence before Ganya spoke.

"I did." Mélanyë looked up. "I was one of those healers, Mélanyë. I was the one who sent her to Valinor." She stared at him, absorbing the new information in shock and slowly shaking her head.

"But I don't remember you," she said finally.

"Ah, but I remember you," he replied. "I remember that you were very young, and that we decided you were far too young to know what was going on. Lindir in particular didn't want you to see."

"See what?" Ganya held his silence and looked out over the water. Mélanyë came and crouched in front of him so he had to look at her. "Aren't I old enough now?" He sighed with a sad smile and placed a hand on her shoulder as he stood.

"Maybe," he said, and then left her there alone. 

The next few days she was blessed with dreamless sleep. In that time she began to feel more like herself, as she caught up on lost sleep that eased both her mind and body. By day she would take walks in the forest by herself and she spent time talking with the Galadhrim. In her heart she still mourned for Lindir, but the weight of grief had been lifted and it was as if she were finally able to breathe after being dragged underwater. 

Once, on a walk the furthest from where she had been staying, she saw the shape of someone very familiar. For a tense moment she thought it was Lindir and that he had survived somehow, and her heart skipped a beat at the thought. She rushed over to him and saw that while it was not him, it was still an old friend. She knelt in front of him.

"Cóume?" She saw a scar on his cheek that hadn't been there before. His face was grim and set, far different from the cheerful guard she'd met in Mirkwood. She almost didn't recognize it at first. He had been busily making arrows, and now looked up at her and forced a smile as she spoke.

"Mélanyë," he said. "I'd heard you were here, and that you were injured. Are you all right?" She reached out to touch the scar and he flinched.

"It looks like I wasn't the only one who came here for healing," she said. He shook his head. 

"I was careless," he said, "I was fighting with one while the other attacked from behind. I should have seen it coming."

"We can't come out of every battle unscathed," she said, subconsciously touching her own scar. She looked down at the small mountain of arrows. "Planning to try again?" He looked up at her with a small grin before answering.

"There's talk of joining the others in Rohan. We've received word of heavy losses in a battle at Helm's Deep. Haldir..." he paused in his work and did not look up. Mélanyë put her hand on his shoulder.

"I know," she said. She had seen him while she'd lain long in her own despair. Unsure whether it was real or just another nightmare she hadn't shared with anyone the vision she'd had of the death of Haldir. Earlier in the week, however, she'd heard several Galadhrim singing a lament for their lost captain. Cóume looked up at her.

"We're leaving tomorrow," he said. "Everyone is welcome." He went back to his work as Mélanyë sat in thought. She wanted to go with Cóume her friend, but remembered her earlier determination about Helm's Deep. She would never make it out of there alive, she knew it. She was torn between her loyalty to her friend and her own self-preservation. For hours she weighed the possible consequences of both options - go and help, or stay and do nothing; go and be wounded again or killed, or stay and be safe in the Golden Wood. As hard as she tried she couldn't bring herself to make a decision. She looked back at Cóume, who was now deeply involved in his work, and sighed. What should she do?


	22. Chapter TwentyTwo

Chapter Twenty-Two: The Dreamcatcher

She knew it was just a dream, for how could she really be in such a horrible place? She stood in a dark and foul cave, seeing the grey-black sky beyond and watching the red lightening rend the night with its cruel fire. Below was a barren wasteland, and far into the distance, a terrible fiery mountain. She was in Mordor. 

At her feet she saw Sam kneeling in the dirt. His shoulders shook in despair.

"Sam, what is it?" She knelt beside him and only then saw what he was kneeling over. Frodo's face was ghostly white in stark contrast to the dark cave.

"He's not asleep," said Sam, his voice breaking in the stillness. The utter anguish was plain in his small voice. He spoke again, and this time he looked right at her. Her heart seized in her chest at his chilling words. "He's not asleep, he's dead!"

Mélanyë bolted upright from her sleep. In a glance she saw that the night sky above the tall Mallorns was clear and dotted with bright stars. She clutched at her chest, willing her heart to slow within her. 

"Just a dream," she whispered to herself, "a dream..." No matter how many times she repeated it, however, she still didn't believe it. 

The next morning, she sat holding Laspis in her lap. She inspected the blade thoughtfully before running a sharpening stone along its edge. Elrohir's dagger and Lindir's long curving sword had already been given similar treatment and lay in the grass at her feet. Her bow and a full quiver of arrows were strapped to her back. 

Ganya appeared through the trees and knelt beside her. She did not look up. "What's all this for?" She ran the stone along the blade, but did not answer. He moved in front of her and looked at her face. Lines of sadness and worry had dimmed her gentle beauty. "What is it?" he asked. She continued her work, and for a long time would not speak.

"Frodo is dead," she said finally, her voice faltering. "It's all over - he's dead." He stared at her, the meaning of her words sinking in. 

"How do you know this?"

"I saw him." He saw the faint tracks of tears streak her cheeks.

"In a dream?" She nodded. He put a hand on her shoulder. "But Mélanyë, dreams aren't real."

"It was real to me," she said in a chilling voice. It didn't even sound like hers. She finally met his eyes. "I've had 'dreams' before that have come true." He sighed softly and sat beside her. 

"So what are you going to do?" She sheathed Laspis and stood, strapping it to her waist.

"Some of the others are talking about travelling south. Helping the men as much as they can." Ganya shook his head slowly.

"No," he said, "Haven't you been through enough?"

"They are my friends now," she said sadly, "my family. I have to help." He took her hand.

"What about _this_ friend? The one that doesn't want you to go?"

"I didn't want Lindir to go either," she whispered. Ganya sat back as if her words had stung. A heavy silence hung between them. At last Ganya stood and confronted her.

"So you would go and die in some meaningless battle rather than have to live with the pain of losing Lindir."

"Is that what you think I'm doing?" He looked her over. Even in the short time he had known her, it seemed to him that she had aged. She seemed older, even taller somehow. He saw that there was very little hobbit left in her. Another casualty of war.

"Yes," he said, "I do." He picked up Lindir's sword and stood. "What about going home?" he asked. She looked him in the eye, and for a fleeting moment he saw the little girl she used to be in her gaze. She quickly turned away.

"I don't belong there anymore. I ran away. What would I say to them?" She picked up the dagger from the grass. "To Elrohir? I wouldn't know where to begin." He put a hand on her shoulder.

"If I know Elrond," he said, "he will be so happy to have you back that he would have forgotten why you left." Mélanyë shook her head.

"No," she said. The finality in her voice cut off any response Ganya might have had. "I'm too different; I'm not the person I was. I can never go back." Ganya shook his head and left without a word.

That night, three armed Galadhrim awakened her from her sleep. She grinned when she saw them, for she had been expecting them. She was starting to get used to the strange dreams she'd been having, and coming to expect them, and to see them later while she was awake. She only hoped she never again had one as horrible as the dream which foretold her own death. Fortunately, that time she had been wrong. 

She was led silently onto a high flet that had been built among some of the tallest Mallorns in Lorien. The whole area was softly lit, but she couldn't tell where the light came from. The guards led her to the center of the dais and left her alone. She looked around the empty flet for a moment in confusion before Galadriel appeared silently and mysteriously behind her. Mélanyë bowed immediately.

"No, please," said Galadriel as she lifted the girl up, "you need not bow to me, Mélanyë." Her voice was soft and almost musical. One look into her deep blue eyes told Mélanyë that she was, perhaps older than the trees they now stood among. It also recalled another dream she'd had several days ago. Then she had seen a very different Galadriel than the one whom she now stood before. That other Galadriel, the daughter of Finarfin, had seemed dark and terrible on the shores of Alqualondë.

"You were there too," she whispered to herself. Then, shaking off the dream, she recalled why she had been summoned. "I know why you brought me here," she said. Galadriel listened patiently as the girl went on. "I know that Ganya has requested of you to forbid me to leave the Golden Wood. But you must understand. This is something I have to do." Galadriel looked deep into her eyes and smiled faintly before answering.

"Although I do believe that Ganya is right and that you should stay with us for now, nothing that anyone, not even I can say will change the fate that already lies before you. It is what you have chosen."

"My fate," said Mélanyë, "Is it bad?"

"That depends on what you mean by 'bad'. If you mean painful or difficult, you would in the end receive greater rewards for your trials." She saw Mélanyë open her mouth to respond, and continued, "And no, I cannot tell you what is to come." 

She approached the girl and placed a hand on her head. "It is customary for the Queens of the Eldalië to give gifts to those setting out on dangerous quests. Although I am not sure you yourself know what you are seeking, I see that you have already been given a gift." Mélanyë looked up with sudden understanding.

"My dreams," she said. 

"Use them wisely, Mélanyë, They are windows not only to the future, but to the past as well."

"But does that mean that Frodo is already dead, or that it may yet happen?" she wondered aloud. She looked to the Lady before her, who remained silent. 

The next morning a host of the Galadhrim, and a few from the other realms made ready to depart. Mélanyë stayed by Cóume as they prepared to leave and he took it upon himself to watch out for her as they travelled. "It's the least I can do for an old friend," he said.

As Mélanyë was strapping on her bow and her sword Ganya approached. He bore a deeply grieved expression and a leather bound book, which he handed to her.

"I don't know when I'll see you again," he said, "So I should give this to you now." She took the book reverently, almost afraid she would crack the delicate cover. She opened it and flipped through the pages, each one totally filled with a neat flowing script. "Lindir wanted you to have it," he said as she continued to inspect the book. "He said he wrote it while you were away with the dwarves a few years ago. He was going to give it to you when you returned to Imladris, but said that if anything happened I should make sure you get it." 

As he spoke she saw on the cover a family crest that was so worn by time that she could barely make it out. The image was a circle of rope enclosing around a dark ocean beneath a starry sky. Puzzled, she began again to flip through the pages. She stopped as she read one of the passages.

"This is in Quenya," she said in surprise. "You said Lindir wrote this? But he was a Sindar." Ganya shook his head.

"No," he said, "he was not. He was a Teleri. A long time ago, when he was younger than you, he lived with his family on the shores of Eressëa. His parents were slain by Noldor at Alqualondë." Mélanyë stared in shock, the gravity of his words sinking in. She slowly sat down, clutching the book to her.

"My mother was a Noldo," she whispered. Ganya did not speak, but left her alone. Slowly, almost if she were afraid to do so, she opened the book to the first page and began to read.

_*To read the book along with Melanye, go to my profile and read the story 'Ancalime'. *_


	23. Chapter TwentyThree

Introduction: This is part three of the Tale of Melanye Ancalime. If you haven't read part one, I suggest you do so. Reading the story 'Ancalime' would also help, as several references are made to it. (and for those of you reading the Elvendiaries, yes, that is the same Ameron ;) And no, I haven't forgotten about it. I'm writing further chapters now, but the next one is waiting patiently for attention. ) So that's about it. This may not make a lot of sense if you haven't read the beginning, but if it does, all the more power too you ;)

Disclaimer: Melanye, Ancalime, Ameron, Lindir, Coume, Rachun, Lyria, Mutoh, and any other characters I come up with belong to me, all else is Tolkien's.

Chapter Twenty-Three: _'To Sleep Perchance to Dream'_

Cóume stood fingering his bowstring. He was one of the four who had volunteered for second watch but he was beginning to wonder if it was really necessary. All the Orcs were down south where the fighting was and he had heard little more than wind all night. The plains of Rohan were empty, as if not only all the people, but the animals had fled as well. 

The company had reached Helm's Deep the day before and found nothing but the aftermath of the terrible battle. Even then, almost a week later, they were still cleaning it up. The decision was then made to travel to Gondor where reinforcements would most likely be needed. In their long travelling, however, the company became anxious. Every one of them had gone out looking to aid their friends who were already in danger. They wanted a fight, but all they got was more travelling, more delays.

He slung his bow onto his back and began to circle the camp. The others, those who were awake, nodded to him as he passed. Then suddenly he froze - he'd heard something. As he listened, he recognized it as whimpering. He followed the sound to where Mélanyë was sleeping and crouched over her. 

"No...ammë, please don't go..." She was curled up on her side clutching her book to her chest. He frowned and brushed damp hair from her face. She had not let Lindir's book out of her sight since she got it. She had been reading it non-stop, day and night, walking and sitting. He thought that if there had been a way she would even be reading it while she slept. A few days ago she had finished it and he noticed that she became very troubled and rarely spoke. At first he hadn't understood what was wrong, and then she told him. Her mother had died years ago and she never knew. 

He reached out to shake her and she woke with a start, clutching the book tighter and backing away from him. It took her a moment to recognize where she was before she relaxed. 

"Are you okay?" he asked. She nodded and he let out a relieved sigh. Ganya had told him about her dreams before they'd left, and also warned him about her nightmares. Most of the dreams she'd had since they'd left were about the past, things she had read in her book. He'd often heard her calling for Lindir in her sleep and he would wake her, fearing a reoccurrence of her earlier dreams of him. "You were dreaming of your mother." She nodded again.

"I understand why Lindir kept this from me," she said quietly. She said the words, but Cóume knew better. She didn't believe any of it.

"You're angry with him, aren't you?" She slowly shook her head, as if trying to convince herself.

"No, I'm not angry with him," she said as she lay down to sleep again. "I'm just angry." Cóume stayed with her until she fell back to sleep. He sighed, stood, and finished his rounds.

_'Mélany_

She saw that she was in a great emptiness and it seemed that the whole world was shrouded in mist and shadow. Before her she could just barely make out the figure of a person, although he too seemed to be made of the mist around her. 

_'Mélany_

Her name came to her from the figure, but it was as if it called inside her head rather than aloud. 

_'Don't go, Mélanyë, turn back…'_

"Who are you?" she cried, but the figure continued to speak as if it hadn't heard her.

_'It's not safe any longer…you have to go now…before it's too late…'_

"Why? What's going on?" The figure paused and slowly raised a hand. It pointed beside them as the mist formed a vision. It was an image of the lands around them, the same view of their path ahead that Ameron, their leader, had shown her the day before. The sun was shining and the plains were lush with grass and flowers. She turned to the figure that now stood behind her. "I don't understand," she said. The figure again pointed to the image before them. When she looked back, it was the same plains, the same way ahead, but this time the sun was not shining. It was cloudy, and in the distance she saw dark shapes. The image sped up and the shapes came closer until finally she could make out what they were.

"Wildmen," she whispered.

_'Turn back…before it's too late…'_

Mélanyë woke with a start. In a glance she saw that it was still night but that the slight glow of dawn was approaching from the east. She looked up at the stars shining above her and smiled at their beauty. Then slowly, her smile began to fade and fear replaced the happiness in her heart. Far above her, thin wisps of cloud began to cover the stars.

She stood immediately and looked south, towards Gondor. Panic gripped her heart as she saw what she'd already guessed - the entire southern horizon was covered in thick dark clouds. She turned and ran.

"Cóume! Cóume!" She ran through the camp, not caring who she disturbed. She finally found him talking with Ameron and grabbed hold of him as soon as she was near. "Cóume! I had another dream!" she cried. He looked worriedly towards Ameron and then knelt in front of her.

"It's okay, Mélanyë, tell me your dream," he said. Ameron stood behind him listening with mild interest. 

"It's today!" she said, trying to get it all out at once. "We have to leave now! It was a warning - we're in danger!"

"From who?" asked Ameron. 

"The Wildmen!" Mélanyë had been deathly afraid at the sight of them in her dream, but as she said it aloud she saw amusement, rather than alarm, on Ameron's face. 

"Wildmen?" he scoffed. "Is that all? Even if there _were_ Wildmen in this region we're more than a match for them in battle." Mélanyë shook her head. 

"No," she said, "it doesn't make sense that I would be warned about them if we could beat them, don't you see? We have to go, that's what he said, we have to go now!"

"What who said?" he asked her. She quieted and looked down at her hands. 

"I don't know." Ameron nodded.

"There, you see?" he said, presumably to Cóume, "We don't even know where this supposed 'warning' came from. I don't plan my battle strategies based on the fantasies of a little girl," he said. Mélanyë felt anger stir in her heart but Cóume put a hand on her shoulder.

"Although we may not know where they are coming from," he said, "The Lady Galadriel has suggested that they may be a gift of the Valar."

"Valar," said Ameron. "Since when did the Valar care about us? If they did they would come and do something about the Dark Lord rather than sitting idle in the Blessed Realm!" Mélanyë felt the hair on the back of her neck rise as she listened. In her mind she saw the face of Fëanor and heard his voice say similar words to the Noldor at Alquilondë. The vision quickly left her but the feeling it gave her remained. 

"So our doom is wrought," she whispered. Neither of the other elves heard her, and she and Cóume watched as Ameron turned and left to plan the day's journey. Mélanyë let herself drop defeatedly onto the grass and bowed her head.

Cóume waited until Ameron was out of sight before sitting beside her. They were silent for a long time, and he put his arm around her in comfort. After several long minutes, he finally spoke.

"A few years ago," he said, "I was helping to repair the bridge that runs over the river near my realm. I was bringing a load of rocks up from the tunnels underground when I saw that one was different. 

"Underground it had looked the same as all the others, but as it was brought outside into the sun I saw veins of blue and green fire just below the surface. I've since carved and polished it and it sits now displayed in my dwelling. The others come by often to marvel at its beauty, now that its color is clearly visible, but," he paused and tipped her chin up with his finger. "They would never have seen it had I not done so. What they, and Ameron, did not understand is that sometimes a thing's greatest worth is hidden just below the surface. All it needs is something to bring it out." He stood, placed a kiss on her cheek, and left her alone.

After he'd gone Mélanyë sat by herself for a long time absorbing the meaning of Cóume's words. After several minutes she raised her hand and softly caressed the place where Cóume had kissed her, a slow smile spreading across her lips. 


	24. Chapter TwentyFour

Chapter Twenty-Four: Consequences

Ameron looked up at the menacing clouds above him and frowned. It looked like it would rain and for him it wasn't a pleasant thought. _'One more delay,'_ he thought. _'The rain will slow us down. At this rate the war will be over by the time we reach Gondor!'_ He looked around him and saw his army making ready to depart. All save one.

"They're coming," she whispered as he approached. Mélanyë was sitting on the ground hugging her knees with her head down as if afraid to look up. "They're coming and we're not going to survive." He sighed and knelt in front of her. He placed a hand on her head in comfort and she finally looked up at him. 

"Mélanyë," he said in a soft voice, "look around you. All of us have been in many battles. These are the most skilled elves you could hope to be with. If there are Wildmen out there they're no match for us." She began to shake her head but he cupped her face with his hand. "All I ask is that you trust me." She held his gaze for a long time and he saw such intensity in those depths that he had to look away. 

"Why don't you believe me?" she whispered, almost a desperate plea. He sighed again and stood, turning away from her. He looked at the others, his friends and colleagues. For so long they'd been looking to join the fight, to help their friends and end the war. He watched as they cleaned their swords and polished their armor. His people were restless, morale was low, and it looked like another week of travelling before they reached their goal. He didn't know whether he believed her dream or not, but he wished it were true. They needed a good fight, any fight, to feel useful. 

He looked back at Mélanyë and frowned. There was, however, the chance that elves would die in the conflict. He didn't want to admit this to her, but he suspected she already knew. He had heard of her. The girl from Imladris who followed her love into battle and nearly got herself killed. The girl who could 'see' things. At that moment she was looking at him and he wondered what she saw. Sometimes he even wondered what he saw when he looked at his own reflection. 

"I do believe you," he whispered, almost to himself, "I do." Mélanyë watched, puzzled, as he walked away. She sat on her own for a long moment before taking out her weapons and began to sharpen Laspis. 

A few minutes later she heard shouting on the edge of the camp. She stood in alarm and ran towards the sound before she knew what she was doing. Even before she arrived she heard Ameron's voice demanding what had happened. She found the circle of elves and saw Tiranen holding Calen who was on the ground with an arrow in his shoulder. One of the healers shouldered his way into the circle and began to treat the other elf. 

"We were scouting the way ahead when we were attacked," said Tiranen. "There were two of them; I think they were Men. They were so fast, I didn't get a good look. I think there may be more of them."

"Much more," said Mélanyë. The others all looked to her and then to Ameron. He looked down as the healer tried to help Calen. 

"Arm yourselves," was all he said. He looked up at Mélanyë and then stumbled back out of the crowd to find his weapons. As he did, almost like magic the Wildmen appeared all around them. They had used stealth to sneak up on the camp while they were occupied and unarmed. All around her elves were falling under their attack. 

Mélanyë ran through the fight towards where she'd camped to get her weapons, cursing herself for not being prepared. She was knocked to the ground from behind a few meters from her weapons and turned to see a huge man looming over her with a big toothless grin. 

"You're pretty..." he said. She screamed and began squirming out from under him. He rolled off of her as he was shot in the back by another elf. She reached her weapons and strapped them on as quickly as possible before joining in the fight. 

She drew her sword, turned around and stopped dead. Already there were bodies all over the ground, and the majority, she saw, were elves. There was still fighting around her but most on their feet were Wildmen. She took aim with her bow and shot several of them before a thought hit her- she hadn't seen Cóume at all. Not fighting, not on the ground. Her heart leapt into her throat at the thought of him dead somewhere and she began searching the battlefield for her friend. 

Several times she was attacked as she looked for Cóume and she managed to fight them off, but just barely. She noticed with great trepidation that these Men were a much more difficult adversary than the Orcs and Uruks she'd fought before. The Orcs had fought with the sheer force of their hatred, while these Wildmen fought with skill and purpose. She realized that her training was insufficient when compared to her enemy. The words of her dream came back to her with painful clarity as she struggled to hold her own in the fight. 

She continued her search for Cóume, stumbling over bodies and praying that he wasn't one of them. She had to force herself to not think about who had been struck down, if she knew them or not, who they were and where they came from. There would be time to mourn later. She called repeatedly for Cóume but received no answer. All she could hear was the sound of clashing swords and the screams of the injured. 

Suddenly she was stopped by the arm. She turned and saw Ameron looking at her with an unreadable expression. It could have been sad, or intense, or regretful. They shared a long look that said many thoughts they could never hope to express aloud. Then Ameron spoke to her for the last time. 

"I'm sorry," he said. She held his eyes and saw tears forming in them. She nodded sadly.

"Me too." She took his hand and squeezed it before resuming her search for her friend.

She finally reached the edge of the fight, where the action was the thinnest. Still she had to fight her way through several Wildmen to see what was going on. Then she spotted the silhouette of her friend struggling with one of the Wildmen.

"Cóume!!" she cried as she ran to him. Suddenly as she neared he fell to the ground with his attacker. Neither got up. She ran as fast as she could towards him and turned him onto his back when she reached him. She saw the growing red stain on his chest as she gathered him up into her lap and he tried to focus on her face. In a glance she saw the broken arrow shaft in his hand and looked down to see the metallic glint of the arrow head buried in the wound. "Oh, Cóume, what have you done..." she whispered. She was about to call for a healer when she felt the sharp point of an arrow on the back of her neck. Hot breath hissed in her ear and she felt the chill run up her spine.

"Move and you're dead," it said. Shakily, she began to turn, but before she could see who was behind her she was struck down and all went black.


	25. Chapter TwentyFive

Chapter Twenty-Five: Alone

Mélanyë woke with a start and felt herself pulled back down by something painful. When she opened her eyes she found it was her hair. Her hands were bound behind her back and her kidnappers had tied her down by her own hair, which was long enough to make a secure knot. Somewhere out of her range of sight she heard slow cruel laughter. 

"I wouldn't try that again, girlie," the voice said. Strong hands took her roughly by the shoulders and her hair was untied. She was forced into a sitting position and found herself staring into the face of a strong looking man with long dirty hair. He grinned at her in a way that made her cringe. "You get up when I tell you." She heard coughing next to her and saw Cóume lying on the ground. His skin was pale grey and the stain on his chest now covered half his tunic. She instinctively tried to get up but was again forced back down.

"And only when I tell you," he commanded. She looked back at him and stared defiantly into his dark eyes. 

"Who are you?" she asked. She was promptly slapped across the face.

"You will not speak until spoken to," he said. She stared at him for a moment.

"What do you want with me?" she asked. Slap.

"You have a lot of nerve for someone so small," he said. "You'll get yourself in trouble that way."

"I thought I already was." The guard holding her raised a hand but the man stopped him.

"If you haven't noticed Mutoh," he said, "that doesn't seem to work with this one." Mélanyë let out an involuntary grin. The man in front of her tipped his head and seemed almost amused. "That doesn't mean we can't think of something else," he said, and as he did Mutoh pressed her hand to the ground and took her little finger securely in his other hand. She whimpered and the other man smiled. "That's better. Now," he pointed to Cóume, "treat him." She opened her mouth to speak again when she felt her finger being bent backwards and her question died on her lips. She nodded slowly and her hands were untied. She cautiously crawled over to Cóume and he opened his eyes. 

"Mel-" his voice cracked as he spoke to her. She put a hand to his lips.

"No, Cóume, don't speak…" she whispered. She surveyed his injuries and sat back. "What am I supposed to treat him with?" she asked her kidnapper. Mutoh looked anxiously to him, but he raised his hand to stop him. He reached beside him and threw her backpack at her.

"I'm sure you must have something in there," he said. "There's no weapons." Only then did she realize that Laspis and her other weapons were gone. In a glance she saw that they were lying beside the dark man. With a scowl, she picked up her bag and started searching it for the herbs she'd packed. She was thankful that her food was still there- at least she didn't have to eat whatever it was that Wildmen eat.

"My name is Rachun," said her kidnapper as she began to treat her friend. She quickly realized that she didn't have anything close to what she needed to help Cóume. 

"Good for you," she said without turning. Cóume looked up at her with a weak grin. She continued on in silence for several moments before finally speaking. "So are you going to tell me why you've taken us?" She heard a short laugh behind her. 

"Let's just say that hobbits are a valuable commodity these days." She looked up at him in disbelief. "They fetch quite a nice price with the White Wizard." 

"Well that explains me, why do you need him?" she gestured to Cóume. Rachun sat back and smiled a thin cruel smile.

"The price for hobbits is second only to the price for elves. The deathless make useful slaves." Mélanyë felt a cold chill run up her spine at the thought. Rachun stood. "Now treat him," he said, "He's no good to us dead." He then turned and left, leaving Mutoh to 'care' for them. Mélanyë looked back down at Cóume and saw his eyes wide with fear. He swallowed hard and waited until Rachun was out of earshot before he spoke.

"Mélanyë, leave me here," he whispered, "You go now while you can." She shook her head and continued her vain attempts to heal him. "Mélanyë, please," he insisted, "Go now while you have the strength to fight back…" In a movement that scared even herself, she grabbed Cóume by the tunic and spoke in a harsh whisper.

"I am not leaving you here to die. We both go or we both stay." She went back to her work. He allowed her to continue on in silence for several minutes before he shook his head.

"You have to go," he said, "You can't help me now, you have to save yourself." Mélanyë avoided his eyes as she wrapped a bandage around him. 

"I'm staying with you, Cóume," she whispered. "We have to stay together so that when the others come for us-" Cóume took one of her bloodied hands in his.

"The others are dead, Mélanyë," he said softly. She held his eyes for a short moment, discerning the truth from his tone before snatching her hand from his. She went back to her work, roughly tying the bandages, causing Cóume to wince with the pain.

"I am not leaving you here," she repeated. He shook his head slowly and took her hand again. Slowly and purposefully he guided it to his side where through his tunic she felt the hilt of a small knife.

"When the time comes," he whispered, "I want you to know where it is." She stared into his eyes in shock, but before she could respond a hand clamped down on her shoulder.

"You're finished," Mutoh hissed at her. She clung to Cóume's hand as she was dragged away from him.

The group travelled for days. She had no idea what would happen to her once they reached 'The White Wizard', but she knew it was bad. The only thing she could think of was that this had something to do with her brother. 

She was treated quite poorly by her captors, forced to walk at a faster pace than she could bear on little rest and even less food. Her pack was again taken from her save for when it was time to treat Cóume, which was less often than she'd like. She watched as his condition grew steadily worse but she knew there was nothing she could do about it. She had all but accepted that her life was over. She would never make it to their destination, much less be able to run away. She simply went along with her captors' demands, if only to avoid being mistreated more than she already was.

One night Mélanyë woke in a cold fright. Only the dim light of the stars illuminated her immediate surrounding and so she saw only vague shapes around her. Beside her, however, she saw the unmistakable silhouette of Rachun. He was eating some sort of dried flesh.

"You're awake," he said gruffly, "We'd thought you dead when you collapsed on the road." He got up and sat closer to her and she tried hard not to grimace at the smell.

"Is that concern?" she asked carefully. He let out a short laugh.

"Ha! Concern for my reward, is all!" He ripped off another piece of flesh and chewed it as he spoke. "You just have to be alive when we reach Isengard tomorrow. After that," he swallowed and took another bite, "it doesn't matter. Once I'm paid, I don't care." He sat chewing in silence for a moment, and then he reached into a bag he was holding. He drew out another strip of dried meat and threw it into her lap. "Eat this," he commanded. She grimaced and threw the meat onto the ground.

"No thanks," she said backing away. "Not everyone enjoys eating the flesh of another creature." He picked up the meat and pointed at her sternly.

"Oh, you will eat it!" he growled. "I don't want you to die of starvation before I get my pay." She was silent. In one quick motion he pinned her to the ground. One of the other men who was awake helped Rachun pry open her jaw an he forced a chunk of the vile flesh into her mouth. When they finally let her go she spat it back into his face. He responded by getting up and kicking her in the ribs.

"You'd better watch it," he yelled at her, "You're becoming more trouble than you're worth!" She held his eyes boldly until he walked away before allowing herself to sob with pain.


	26. Chapter TwentySix

Chapter Twenty-Six: Help Unlooked-For

Mélanyë stared at the rising sun before her. She sat hugging her knees to keep warm and praying the sun would rise faster. Her eyes moved from the horizon down to her bound wrists. Gingerly she touched the red welts that had risen under the rough ropes they'd tied her with. The pain was like fire burning her skin, but she'd quickly learned to block it out. She realized then that she couldn't remember what it felt like to not be hurt or bruised. It seemed to her that she'd been away from Imladris for so long that it was merely a dream or another life long ago. As the sun rose higher, however, its rays played on the surface of some small white and yellow flowers that grew on the bank of the Isen not too far from where she sat. 

_'Or maybe it wasn't a dream,'_ she thought as she slowly reached out to pick one of the flowers. She breathed deeply the smell of it and smiled, letting it take her back years ago when her mother had brought her to this very spot as a child. She then inched closer to the edge of the water and looked down. The rapids crashed against the bank below with such speed that she sat back, surprised. She looked back at the flower and then froze as a terrifying thought occurred to her. 

_'They would never notice if I jumped, would they?'_ she thought. She glanced over her shoulder at the guard behind her. He was leaning his back against a bare tree trunk and snoring loudly. _'They just assume there's no fight left in me. I'll show them.' _She was about to turn back to the water when something caught her eye. 

The Wildmen's camp, in contrast to where she sat, was still dark, untouched by the new rays of the sun. It was almost frightening- shades of black and grey all around with a dark spike in the distance ahead. Every figure was shadowed in the pre-dawn darkness save one. In the middle of the camp surrounded by guards was Cóume. His fair Mirkwood robes caught even the slightest light that reached them and shone, giving him an ethereal look among the dirty Men about him. Even his skin seemed to shine in contrast to theirs. She sat down again and stared at him, despair anchoring her back in reality. 

_'How could I abandon him? I can't leave him like this after all he's done for me. I have to stay.' _She sighed and lay down, closing her eyes and allowing herself to rest for the few minutes before they got moving again. Not two minutes had gone by before she heard shouts across the camp. She sat up and saw a crowd gathered around where Cóume lay.

"Cóume?" she said quietly. She sat up to get a better view and was roughly picked up from behind and shoved in her friend's direction. The crowd parted for her and she saw him weakly shaking, struggling to breathe. Her bag was once again thrown at her. 

"Cóume?" she said again, louder. He didn't seem to hear or see her and she had no idea what was happening. She searched through her bag looking for anything that could help him, but she simply didn't know what to do. His shaking then became more violent. "Cóume, no!" she pleaded. His eyes began to grow dull as the tried to focus on her. "Cóume, please, don't do this…don't leave me here alone!" Cóume's hand found hers and he pulled her to him with all the strength he had left.

"Mel," he whispered, "you have to go now." He let her go and she watched as his hand fell limp and his eyes closed. She stared at him in disbelief, feeling heat rise in her cheeks and hot tears stinging her eyes. Swiftly an uncontrollable despair took over of her and she wept, not caring who saw her or what possible punishment could result. She lay over his body and wept bitterly, begging Cóume to come back to her, but soon she heard the sound of Rachun's heavy boots behind her.

"Get rid of it," he growled. Before she could understand what he'd meant, one of the other men grabbed Cóume's body and dragged him away from her. Her eyes widened in shock and horror as the man picked up her friend and dumped him into the Isen.

"No!" she cried. She tried to escape her captors in a hopeless attempt to rescue Cóume, but it was too late. Mutoh laughed harshly as they all heard the splash.

"Let's go," said Rachun. As the others began to move out he looked down at the sobbing girl on the ground. "And stop whining." She was then roughly picked up and forced to walk. Before her she could see in the near distance a great black spike piercing the sky.

The next morning dawned dim and cold. Mélanyë lay curled up hugging her knees and shivering as the camp began to stir. She did not look up, but kept her eyes closed as if asleep. After they had made camp the night before she had stayed awake, partly from fear of her captors and partly to think. 

Cóume was gone, there was no reason for her to stay with these men any longer, and yet she no longer felt she had the strength to escape. Cóume's words to her days ago came back and laughed at her- _'…go now, while you still can…'_ She slipped her hand under her shirt and felt her still-bruised ribs, a sign that her strength really had left her. She pulled her hand away, but as she did, felt the hilt of the small knife Cóume had given to her. She wrapped her hand around the handle and rubbed it thoughtfully. She then began to think about what she could do with it. 

Although she may not be able to escape, she mused, at least she could take out a few of the Wildmen before they killed her. Better to die here in battle than to be taken to Isengard and tortured for news of her brother. 

Even as she made her decision, she felt rough hands on her shoulders and was turned onto her back. Rachun hovered above her. He was about to say something, when before she could think better of it Mélanyë slipped the knife from her shirt and buried it into his stomach. His eyes went wide with shock, and he looked as if he was trying to speak, but no words came out. 

Suddenly a fierce anger overcame her and she buried the knife deeper into him, twisting it and attempting to cause as much pain to her tormenter as she could. She felt his blood flowing over her hand as it held the knife, but she ignored it, forcing the blade in as far as she could, until the tip came out through his back. The only way Mutoh knew there was anything wrong.

He stood and rolled Rachun off of the elf, only to see that she was covered in his master's blood. In a blind rage he drew his sword and raised it over her head. Mélanyë backed away but knew that escape was impossible. There was one of her and sixty of them. There was no way out. She closed her eyes, bracing for the blow when instead he fell to the ground beside her. When she opened her eyes she saw a green-feathered arrow buried in his back. Mélanyë looked up in awe and saw a figure clad in a long dark cloak running towards her. It picked up her weapons from where they lay and brought them to her. 

The camp had been raised by the clamber and quickly armed themselves as the figure pushed back its hood. Mélanyë saw with surprise that it was female. 

"You are _Edain_," said Mélanyë. 

"There's no time for introductions just yet," she said as she cut the girl's bonds, "arm yourself, we'll make for the Isen and lose them in the river. Hurry!" With that she drew her sword and began fending off the angry Wildmen. Mélanyë quickly did as the woman asked, strapping on her weapons, her cloak and her backpack, and then drew her own sword. The two fought their way through the camp and finally came to the edge of the swift-flowing Isen. 

"Jump!" said the woman. Mélanyë looked down at the rapids and then at the Wildmen running towards them. The woman took Mélanyë's sword and sheathed it. "Jump! There's no time!" The girl again hesitated, and before she could look back she felt herself being pushed off the cliff. Mélanyë hit the icy water below, and remembered nothing more.


	27. Chapter TwentySeven

Chapter Twenty-Seven: _Lyria_

Mélanyë jolted awake on the shore of the river. At first she didn't remember what had happened and assumed that she and the Wildmen had been travelling while she slept. Out of habit she did not move as she woke but scanned her surroundings as much as she could. 

She was curled on her side several feet from the shores of the Isen. The water ran much slower here and she saw a school of fish swim by where she lay. The sun was low in the west, being mid-afternoon, which made her wonder why they weren't travelling. She looked down at the ropes around her wrists and sighed. Then she saw the edge of one of the ends- it had been cut. She was free. She sat up with a start, but then her bruised ribs pinned her back down. 

"Careful!" she heard a woman's voice behind her. Then it all came back to her. Killing Rachun and being rescued by who she thought to be a Ranger. At first she had assumed her one of the Dunedain, but her clothes made her think more of Boromir, the man of Gondor, than of Aragorn. 

She felt hands gently turn her onto her back and saw a kind face above her. Her side complained at the new position and she hissed in pain. The woman's face showed her concern and she began to check the elf for injuries. 

"I was worried," she said. She frowned as she uncovered an angry bruise on the girl's side. She took out herbs and bandages from a pouch as she continued. "You've been out for hours, I was afraid you may not wake up." Mélanyë didn't speak, but managed a small appreciative smile. The woman smiled back. 

"My name is Lyrunya Forod," she said. She leaned over, brushing hair away from Mélanyë's pointed ears. "_But the Elves call me Lyria,_" she said in Elvish. Mélanyë smiled and relaxed. Lyria watched her for a moment and then went back to tend to her wounds. She wrapped a bandage around the elf's side and then moved to clean the gash on her forehead. That was when she saw the tears on her cheeks. "What is it?" Mélanyë took a shuddering breath.

"He's gone," she whispered, "I couldn't help him…he's gone." Lyria looked as if she were about to speak, but instead went back to her work. Mélanyë stayed still and let the Ranger treat her. As she did, she studied her face, distracting herself from the pain. 

Lyria had long dark hair that was curly, something Mélanyë rarely ever saw among the elves, and she had warm green eyes that reminded her of her mother. As she leaned over a silver pendant slipped from her shirt and Mélanyë stared at it, smiling at its beauty. It seemed to be several knots in the shape of a diamond but that shone like mithril. Lyria caught her eyes and smiled. 

"It was a gift," she said as she tied the last bandage. She sat back with a sigh. "You should rest. You've been through a lot. Have you eaten?" Mélanyë shook her head. The ranger searched another pouch and drew out some Lembas. Surprise flashed across Mélanyë's face and Lyria grinned at her as she broke one in half and handed it to her. "These were also a gift," she said. 

Mélanyë woke again later that evening. The sky was dark and dotted with stars save for in the west where the slight greenish glow of the sun still lingered. Lyria was sitting by the water humming a tune Mélanyë didn't recognize. 

"How did you find me?" she asked her. She had wanted to speak in a normal tone, but it came out almost as a whisper. Lyria turned.

"I was on my way to Gondor when I saw the camp," she said, getting up to sit next to her. "I wouldn't have stopped at all had I not seen you." With some difficulty Mélanyë sat up. 

"Thank you," she said. " I…I hadn't expected to ever be free again." Lyria smiled at her and got up. She filled a cup with water from the river and handed it to her. Mélanyë took it gratefully and drank it all at once. She couldn't remember the last time she'd had fresh water to drink, and this was sweet and cold. 

"You are Mélanyë, aren't you?" Lyria said suddenly. The girl looked up in surprise. "You're the one they're looking for."

"Who's looking for me?" she asked. In her heart hope was rekindled that the others had survived the Wildmen's attack somehow.

"Some elves, I'm not sure who they were. I think they may be from Imladris." Mélanyë sat back as both joy and disappointment sprang up inside her. 

"Oh."

"You do not wish to be found?" she asked. She seemed almost amused by her reaction. 

"Well no, that's not it," she said, "It's just…I'd left in secret." To Lyria she seemed positively ashamed or embarrassed to share this with her. "I had left without permission. I feared they would not want me back." Lyria nodded with understanding.

"Ah, so this is family who searches all of Arnor and Eriador for you." Mélanyë bowed her head and sighed.

"I have no family. Not anymore." Lyria shook her head and leaned closer to her.  
"I think you have more than you realize," she said. "You know they said they would stop at nothing to find you? They truly care for you. I don't think your leaving would change that. They miss you." Mélanyë looked up at Lyria as she spoke, eyes filled with tears. "I think it's time for you to go home." Mélanyë let out a shaky sigh and looked to the river beside them. 

"Would you go?"

"In a second."

The next morning Lyria guided Mélanyë up the slope of the riverbank to the wide plains ahead. Her side was far less painful thanks to the Ranger's herblore, and she felt somewhat ready to go on. Lyria pointed ahead.

"Go this way," she said. "By evening you should reach the road. Follow it for three days until you come to a bridge. If you turn east with the river it will take you home."

"You're not coming with me?" asked Mélanyë. She was the only other person in these wide lands she knew, and felt that if they parted she would be lost in a moment. 

"Mélanyë," Lyria said in a kind voice, "I am needed in Gondor. You will be fine on your own." 

"I wish I could go with you." Lyria shook her head. 

"No," she said. "You have been away from home long enough. It is time for you to go back where it is still safe." Mélanyë looked ahead to where Lyria had pointed.

"You're sure I'll find the road?" she said doubtfully. Lyria knelt and hugged her.

"Positive. Now go, or you'll lose daylight!" She gave her some of her lembas, hoping it would be enough for her long journey, and sent her on her way. As the sun set and the first stars appeared above her, Mélanyë found the road, just where Lyria said it would be.


	28. Chapter TwentyEight

Chapter Twenty-Eight: _At the Sign of the Prancing Pony_

The road seemed incredibly long, and to Mélanyë, stretched on forever. She followed it just as Lyria had told her too, but after two days of seeing the same road with mostly the same landscape around it, she began to worry. She thought that maybe she was on the wrong road, or that it was going the wrong way. The greatest anxiety came when, on the third day, she still hadn't reached the bridge. At first there was momentary panic, but then she decided to walk for another day. The Ranger had longer legs than she did and so it may take her longer to get there. 

As it turned out she was right. By lunchtime on the fourth day she found the river. She didn't know it, but it was the Greyflood, the very same river that is called 'Brunien' in Imladris. If she followed it as Lyria had told her to, she would arrive home within a few days. As she stood on the bridge, however, doubt took her. She sat on the wood planks and tried to decide what to do. 

She looked east down the river, picturing the House of Elrond in the far distance and trying to imagine what would happen if she returned. Would there be welcoming arms and 'we missed you's like Lyria had said, or would she be scolded and locked again in her room? She sat for a long time, but the more she thought about it, the more the second possibility seemed likely. 

Just as evening began to set in she turned, sitting instead facing the road north. What awaited her there? Lyria hadn't said what lay to the North, but she guessed that the Shire was close by. She remembered visiting there long ago when she was a child. It was a happy place filled with smiling people with grass, flowers and tall trees. It then occurred to her to run there, to hide in the Shire and perhaps become one of them. At the time she felt that she would be much happier there than Imladris, and so when the sun rose the next morning she continued on the road, travelling further north, and away from her home. 

This time, however, the road seemed much more daunting. She had no guide to say how long it would take to reach the Shire, and worse yet, her lembas were running dangerously low; enough for two or three days more at most. At last she did run out, and she began to worry. She had no idea where she was headed, but knew that it was important she get there before she starved.

She then decided to travel mostly at night, since the sun was extremely hot and made her journey seem much harder. When the sun came up she would find whatever shelter was available, usually a tree, and sleep beneath her Lorien cloak, praying that it kept her safe.

Each day saw the same endless landscape that seemed to go on for miles, and the horizon just became farther and farther away. She then began to feel a weight of hopelessness and despair creep into her soul. No one would ever find her - Elrohir and the others would never know what happened to her and she would die out her alone. Then she saw it.

Far far ahead, on the edge of her vision, she saw shapes. It was several days of more walking before the shapes took the form of houses. With a cry of relief she began to run for them with every last ounce of strength she owned. Ever so slowly they became larger, until several nights later she stumbled into the small town. 

She approached the front gate hesitantly, suddenly fearful of her new surroundings. What if these people were like Rachun and Mutoh? Nevertheless, hunger and fatigue won out over trepidation and she approached the guard. Her hand found her sword at first, but then she thought to herself, '_what good is a weapon if you're too weak to wield it?'_ She let it go and instead pulled her cloak tighter around her and the hood over her head.

"Who are you?" said the guard. Mélanyë noted the hostility in his voice and almost turned around and ran away. She swallowed her fear and spoke.

"_Nánye úna,"_ she said. The man looked at her strangely and only then did she realize she's spoken in Quenya. She tried desperately to remember the Common Speech, but only a few words came out. "Lost… need…food?" The man's expression immediately softened and he crouched in front of her.

"Are you all alone, little one?" he said. Mélanyë belatedly realized that he thought she was a child. She nodded and he guided her in through the gate. "Down that street there's an Inn called The Prancing Pony. Inside you'll meet Barliman. He can help you." Mélanyë nodded and thanked the man, but she was half way down the street he'd shown her to before she realized she'd again spoken in her native tongue. It was becoming harder and harder for her to remember other languages as she became more fatigued and so she couldn't even read the letters on the sign that featured a picture of a horse on its hind legs. Gratefully, she stumbled in. 

She was immediately surrounded in a dim smoky atmosphere in which everyone she saw frightened her. She walked slowly and cautiously through the crowded bar, clutching her hood and cloak tighter around her and scanning the room for danger. She jumped about a foot in the air when a loud voice greeted her from behind.

"Can I help you, lass?" it said. She slowly turned to see a large round man staring at her. She searched her memory for the words to answer him in his own language. 

"Looking for…'Barliman'?" she said haltingly. The man smiled.

"Well you've found him! Mr. Barliman Butterbur at your service!" he said proudly. She barely heard his declaration as she sighed in relief. She felt the moment she saw him that she could trust this man to help her and so allowed herself to finally let go. Barliman watched in dismay as the girl collapsed into a heap at his feet. 

"Nob!" he shouted as he knelt to scoop up the girl into his arms. As he did her hood slid back from her face revealing her pointed ears. "An elf?" he wondered. Nob knelt then, staring at the girl in wonder. After several shocked moments Barliman blinked and looked up at the hobbit in front of him.

"Well don't just stand there, fetch the doctor!" he cried. Nob quickly got up and ran out of the bar as Barliman picked up Mélanyë and carried her upstairs out of sight of the gawking patrons.

Mélanyë lay in peaceful dreams as Barliman spoke with the doctor. Nob was anxiously hovering over the girl and straining to hear what was being said. 

"How is she?" The doctor sighed.

"Well, she's dehydrated, malnourished…there's some injuries that suggest she's been in battle. Where did you find her?" Barliman shot a worried glance in Mélanyë's direction.

"She just walked into my bar. I think the gatekeeper sent her." The doctor nodded. 

"Well, it seems she's had quite the adventure," he said, "from the way she's dressed, with all those weapons…" he paused and spoke in a hushed tone. "There's something else, but…no, I should tell her when she wakes."

"You can tell me." The two spun around at the deep voice behind them. Somehow, a tall dark haired elf had entered the room without them knowing. He strode forward and the two men found it impossible not to notice the long sword at his side. They backed away.

"Who...who are you?" asked Barliman.

"My name is Elrohir, son of Elrond. Mélanyë is one of my kin." A sudden understanding reached the two men and they visibly relaxed.

"Well that's good then," said Barliman, but the doctor stopped him.

"Wait," he said, "If you two are family, then I would like to know how such a young girl was allowed to go off on her own like this!" Barliman thought for a moment and then demanded the same from the tall elf.

"So would I," said Elrohir. "Myself and several others have been searching for her ever since she ran away several months ago," he said. "I heard that she had been seen wandering in the lands near here and so assumed she would find her way to Bree. Now," he put a strong hand on the doctor's shoulder. "What is wrong with her?"

"Nothing," he said. "That is, she's not sick. She's pregnant." Elrohir stepped back a pace in disbelief. He looked from the doctor to the small figure on the bed, slowly shaking his head. 

"Are you certain?" he asked. The doctor nodded. "How did this happen?" he whispered.

"The usual way, I suppose," said Barliman, who was promptly scowled at by the dark elf. With a heavy sigh, Elrohir took a stool from a nearby table and sat next to Mélanyë's bed. Sure enough, he did see a small bulge in her middle and he rested his head in his hands. After tense moments of watching the elf, the others one by one, left him alone with the patient.


	29. Chapter TwentyNine

Chapter Twenty-Nine: Return to Innocence

Elrohir watched as Mélanyë slept. At first he just studied her face, noting the scars that didn't belong, that her hair had grown a little longer since he'd seen her last, and most disturbingly, the bandages on her wrists and forehead. He felt as one who had, after receiving back a stolen item, found that it had been damaged. Everything about her was different. He assumed from her clothes that she had been to Lorien, and saw that she had been in a battle. He let out a wry chuckle at the thought. Little Mélanyë in battle? Absurd!

He had removed her pack and her weapons and now studied her bow in his hands. He wondered where she had gotten it and who had inscribed the blessing in the smooth wood. He also found Lindir's book in her pack. He read a few lines, but closed it again, seeing that it was a private book for her. Seeing it, however, raised more questions. Where was Lindir? And if she had found Haldir's team, why was she no longer with them? And most importantly, if they were heading to Rohan, how did she end up in Bree?

Just then Mélanyë stirred in her sleep. Elrohir stood and picked up the cool cloth Nob had given him, smoothing it over her face. Her eyes opened slowly, scanning her unfamiliar surroundings with growing fear. She turned her head and started in surprise as she saw Elrohir. Neither spoke. He reached beside him for a pitcher of water and poured a glass for Mélanyë. She sat up and took it from him gingerly, as if unsure whether he was angry with her or not. She sat with her head bowed and waited for him to begin.

"You're looking better than you were," he said as he got up. He went to the door and called softly for someone, speaking briefly with them before closing the door and sitting back down. He looked on her doubtful expression and smiled warmly. "No, I'm not angry with you, Mélanyë," he said softly. "I'm glad to see you, and yet sad also. For years I have been living in denial about how mature you really are, and now I see that you have indeed grown up." He stood and picked up her sword from the table. "You're going into battle," he continued, "falling in love, and now," He turned back to her, and she couldn't decide whether she saw sadness or pride in his blue eyes. "Having a child. I don't know how to deal with this." Mélanyë sat still, stunned by this news that seemed to cause her whole body to fall numb. She looked down and placed a hand on her stomach, seeing that it really was bigger and that what he'd said was true. Suddenly, in her heart she felt the loss of Lindir as if he had just in that moment died, and tears began to flow freely down her face. Elrohir came and knelt beside her, holding her hands as she wept. 

"Mélanyë, where is he? Where is Lindir?" he asked. The question only served to deepen the pain and so he received no answer other than a new wave of tears. There was a soft knock at the door in that moment and Elrohir reluctantly got up to answer it. In came a sandy haired hobbit carrying a tray of food. 

"I'm sure glad you're awake, miss," he said cheerfully as he set the tray down on the bed in front of her. Mélanyë wiped away the last of her tears and tried to compose herself for her guest. "Mr. Butterbur and I were quite worried you wouldn't pull through. Luckily Mr. Elrohir came and watched over you." She smiled and extended a hand to him.

"Thank you very much," she said. "My name is Mélanyë."

"Nob, at your service!" he replied, taking her hand and giving it an enthusiastic shake. "Just give a shout and I'll bring you anything you'd like." Mélanyë smiled shyly.

"I would like a cup of tea if that's alright."

"Alright? Of course it is! Half a moment!" And with that the little man dashed out the door and down the stairs. Mélanyë laughed in delight and looked down at the tray he'd brought her. On it was fresh bread, cheese and a bowl of hot soup. She leaned in to smell it and sighed contentedly.

"Oh, Elrohir, I haven't had food like this in a long time." He smiled and watched out the window as she ate, but soon she began to tell her tale of where she'd been and what she'd been doing. He listened with great interest and wonder as he learned about all the brave things she'd done and terrible battles she'd fought. Only in that moment did he really see how much she'd changed, not only in appearance, but as a person. She really had grown up, mentally as well as spiritually. When she began to tell him of her dreams he stopped her.

"What did you dream of while you slept here?" he asked. She sat and thought for a long while, but then shook her head. 

"I don't remember, but it was wonderful. Happy, and free of any trace of sadness or pain. It was as if I were looking down a long dark path that led to the grandest, brightest party I could imagine with all the people I loved and cared for right there with me." He smiled as he pictured it, but then looked deep into her eyes, and the smile was gone.

"Things have changed at home since you've been gone, Mélanyë," he said. "My father does not believe that this war can be won." Mélanyë felt a mixture of fear and anger at his words, and Elrohir himself wore a deeply saddened expression. "But…there is always hope," he whispered. He looked up at her again and the look was gone. "Many are departing for the West, and soon all of Imladris will be emptied." Mélanyë frowned.

"It doesn't sound like there is much hope left in the Eldar if we would abandon Middle-Earth on the eve of the Great War. Will we not even give the Quest a chance? Or was it always doomed from the beginning?" Elrohir stood and shook his head. When he turned back to her his face was hardened.

"Get some rest. We leave for Imladris in the morning."

The next day they departed from Bree heading east towards home. They rode upon Elrohir's grey horse with all speed save for a few brief stops to rest. Two days later they entered the gates of Rivendell. Mélanyë was welcomed with a shower of hugs and kisses from her friends. Herself, she found it all a bit overwhelming to be home and see everyone again, as if for the first time. 

"My dear," she heard behind her. She turned to see a very concerned Bilbo leaning heavily on his walking stick looking up at her. She embraced him in a tender hug. 

"Oh, Bilbo," she said, "I'm so sorry for leaving you without saying goodbye!" He began to laugh, immediately setting her at ease. 

"Dear Mélanyë, I left for my adventure without a word to my kin," He caressed her cheek with his soft hand. "Welcome home," He said. He then led her away from the crowd of people up to her room. 

Mélanyë was almost moved to tears as she entered her home for the first time in many months. Everything around her reminded her of the girl she was when she first left to follow after Lindir into what even she couldn't guess. She removed her pack and her weapons, lovingly folding her Lorien cloak and putting it away. Bilbo watched as she gently removed an old leather book from her pack and caressed it thoughtfully. 

"That was Lindir's book if I'm not mistaken," he said softly. She turned to him in surprise, giving him a questioning look. "Oh, I…I saw him with it a while back. He had the same look on his face then as you do now. It must be a sad story indeed." Mélanyë looked back to the cover and traced the emblem with her finger.

"It is," she said. She sighed and then turned back to her uncle. "Bilbo, Lindir…he was slain." Shock mingled with great sadness passed over the old hobbit's face and he hugged her. She held him tightly but did not cry, feeling in her heart that she had shed every tear she had for him already. Bilbo rubbed her back soothingly until finally letting her go. As he did however he looked down and saw how her stomach had grown. 

"Mélanyë, could it be?" She smiled faintly at him and nodded. "You are to be a mother? Why this is wonderful news!" he cried. "Well, we'll have to get you unpacked and to the Hall of Fire where you can tell us all about your adventure!" Mélanyë had been smiling at her uncle's enthusiasm, but as he said this she frowned.

"Bilbo, my adventure wasn't as…happy as yours was." His smile faded also, but the sparkle in his eye still remained. 

"But you're adventure hasn't ended yet," he said, placing a hand on her stomach. "All stories have a happy ending. You just have to wait for yours."


	30. Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty: Calm Before the Storm

Mélanyë sat back and sighed as the water flowed over her face, enveloping her in its soothing warmth. After she'd unpacked and said a quick hello to her friends, the first thing she'd done was draw herself a bath, wishing nothing more than to wash away the past few months. Just being home began to heal her in a way that she never could in another land. She felt the heat soothing her tired muscles and slowly began to feel like herself again. 

Soon her mind began to drift, going over all she'd done since she'd left home. Many of her memories were unpleasant, even frightening, but she was able to face them and at last accept her losses. On loss her thoughts dwelt for a long time, and again she felt the fullness of her grief for all those she had left behind. But in all the pain those memories caused her she never once felt regret over her decision to go and fight, rather than to sit and wait quietly for the storm to come to her. True, it had been a terrible journey, but as Galadriel had told her, great reward would soon follow.

She smiled and looked down as her hand rested on her stomach. Although she felt she was not ready to have a child, her heart pounded in excitement at the thought. Already she dearly loved this little person she'd never seen and vowed to give him the best of everything. She wondered what the child would look like, whether it was a son or daughter, and what she would name him. At that moment she heard a soft knock on the door. She jolted upright in the water, surprised. Only then had she realized that she had been drifting off to sleep.

"Mélanyë?" Elrohir's voice came to her from the other side of the door. "Mélanyë, are you alright? You've been in there for hours," he said.

"Yes, I'm fine," she said, quickly getting out of the water and wrapping her robe about her. She opened the door and found Elrohir grinning at her.

"If you stay in there much longer you may dissolve," he joked. As soon as it had come, however, the smile on his face faded. "My father has been looking for you," he said softly. "He wants to talk with you as soon as you're able." Mélanyë looked up at him, eyes wide with panic.

"Elrohir, I can't talk to him!" she said. She brushed past him to her room and began searching through her clothes. "What will I say? He must be so angry with me." Elrohir shook his head.

"He's not angry with you," he said. "He's glad you're back, as we all are. He-" Elrohir paused, as if he were about to let a secret slip out. Mélanyë looked up at him and he sighed. "I was not supposed to say, he wished to tell you himself."

"Tell me what?" He smiled and cupped her face with his hand.

"You'll find out. Now hurry, get dressed!" She disappeared behind the dresser and he waited until she said she was ready. He turned around and had to hide a grin with his hand.

"It's a little tight," she said. It seemed that while she'd been away more than just her stomach had grown. She was several inches taller than when she'd left, and so all her old clothes were too small for her.

"Perhaps you should wear your clothes from Lothlorien until something can be made for you," he said. Her silver and grey outfit had been made recently, and so was the correct size. She reached for the small pile of washed and folded clothes on her bed and went again to change.

Elrohir then led her through the familiar halls towards Elrond's study. He was seated at his desk with a small stack of papers before him, but yet he seemed lost in his own thought. Mélanyë looked behind her and saw that he was gazing thoughtfully at a painting on the far wall, one that depicted Beren taking the hand of Luthien before the throne of Thingol, her father. Mélanyë looked at it curiously for a moment before sitting across from Elrond and silently waiting for him to speak. 

He looked at her then, as one coming out of a waking dream and he smiled, though his eyes remained somber as if a great pain was in his heart that may never heal. He then told Elrohir that he could go, and the door was shut softly behind him. All was still for several moments.

"It is good to see you, Mélanyë," he said. She looked down at her folded hands, suddenly embarrassed. "No, do not feel ashamed for running away," he said softly. He stood and looked out the window beside him. "What you have done, although against my wishes, was meant to be. I could no more alter your path than that of your mother's, or my daughter's…" he trailed off then and was silent for several moments. He turned to look at her and his expression seemed to be one of sadness mingled with joy. "And now I hear that _you_ are to be a mother." He shook his head and sighed. "All the world is changing around me and I feel powerless to stop it." He looked again out the window and silence again hung in the air.

"Elrohir tells me that many have left for the Havens," she said. Her voice sounded small in the stillness. "Imladris has become so quiet, it feels that there is scarcely anyone left."

"Yes, many have gone," he said without turning. "Middle-Earth is no longer safe for us. This war will spread, and there will be no escape from this shadow once it comes."

"The shadow does not hold sway yet," she replied quietly. Elrond turned then, giving her an odd, almost alarmed look before turning back to the window. "We must have faith that the Ringbearer will finish his task." Mélanyë watched as Elrond slowly bowed his head.

"There is little hope he has lasted this long. A hobbit is no match for the forces of evil." Mélanyë shook her head, suddenly feeling a surge of confidence in her heart.

"Not if our hope lay in strength of arms, but ours rests in speed and secrecy. Frodo may be small, but in the end he is the only one able to fulfill this task." Elrond then lifted his head and looked up at her, and very slowly, as the melting of snow in the spring, the despair faded from his eyes. He paused and considered her words as a faint smile spread across his features.

"I spoke those same words to your mother before you were born," he said.

"Were they true?" she asked. His smile became a grin as he looked on her.

"Yes," he said as he rose from his chair. "You have given me back the hope I thought I'd lost. Many others have tried and failed." Mélanyë shook her head.

"I didn't give anything back, Lord. I just reminded you of what you already had."

Several days later Mélanyë watched from her window as, like lightening Arwen raced in through the gates on Asfaloth. She stood as she watched her jump from his back and run to the garden where Elrond sat in thought. Mélanyë knew she should stay and let them talk alone, but her curiosity was piqued and so, against her better judgement she followed. She took care to stay hidden from them as she watched the scene unfold before her.

"What did you see?" said Arwen. Elrond turned to look at his daughter and his face bore deep lines of emotion.

"I looked into your future and I saw death."

"But there is also life," she breathed. When her father turned away she followed. "You saw there was a child. You saw my son!" Mélanyë barely had time to absorb the information before Elrond responded.

"That future is almost gone." The full weight of his despair rested in those words and Mélanyë felt her heart grow heavy. Arwen moved closer to her father.

"But it is not lost." He looked up at her then and Mélanyë thought she saw his eyes glisten with tears before he looked away again.

"Nothing is certain anymore." Arwen knelt before him and took his face in her hand. She whispered so softly to him that Mélanyë had to struggle to hear her.

"Some things are certain. If I leave him now, I will regret it forever." He looked into her eyes, and even from afar Mélanyë could see the love he had for his daughter in them. "It is time, _Atar_," she said, "give him the sword of the King." For many long moments he looked at her, trying to decide what he should do. She knew he was wrestling both with his desire for her to live, and also to be happy. He knew then that she could only have one, and in that moment he finally accepted her choice. Slowly, he nodded. They stood together and hand in hand, left the garden.


	31. Chapter ThirtyOne

Chapter Thirty-One: _A Light From the Shadows Shall Spring…_

That night, Mélanyë was woken by the sounds of hammering. She stealthily crept from her room, following the sounds, until she found its source. For the first time in many years, the kiln was lit and the smiths were working. She saw far off, Elrond watching as the elves worked the metal. His expression was unreadable to her, as if he could be upset, but at the same time he was happy. 

Her attention was again drawn by the smiths as they hammered the burning metal. As she looked closer she saw the hilt of the sword that one held as the other struck the blade. She knew that blade very well, having spent many long hours studying it and marveling at the beauty of it, even broken. Narsil, the sword of kings- it was finally being re-made. Inside her excitement sprang as the eruption of a volcano. The sword being re-forged could only mean that the King has returned! The King of the West- the only one who could unite Men as one people. She only wished that he would get the sword in time to save them from Sauron.

Even as she thought this, the blade was thrust into a pool of water, causing a thick cloud of steam to rise from it. Then at once it was lifted out again and the cooled steel glimmered in the moonlight. 

"No longer Narsil shall you be called," said one, "But Anduril, Flame of the West. No one shall stand against you while in the hands of the King of Gondor." Then they held aloft the sword, marveling at their work before handing it to Elrond.

"Bear this swiftly to Rohan," the other said to him, "He will have need of it very soon." Elrond took Anduril and sheathed it before turning with haste to the stables. Mélanyë followed.

She came just as Elrond mounted his horse and was about to depart. She caught his eyes with hers and held them, seeing that the unreadable expression was, in fact, pride.

"You are happy," she said, almost surprised at her own words. He nodded to her, and a very small smile appeared on his face. 

"For now. The Sword of Kings has been re-made, all depends now on how it is wielded." With that he was off, leaving a trail of dust in his wake. She watched him go until he had left the gates of Rivendell, before turning back to the horses. Then she went to make a long overdue greeting.

"Shani," she called softly. She heard her pony answer her excitedly as she approached. Mélanyë caressed her friend's muzzle as she came near, whispering soft words in her ear. The pony nuzzled her hand and nickered happily at her return. "Oh, Shani," said Mélanyë, "I'm sorry for leaving you for so long, but I would never bring you into danger. I could never ask that of you." Shani neighed her protest, as if to say that she would have gone anywhere with her, but the elf shook her head. "No, my friend, it was better that you stayed here." She hugged her neck and then whispered softly, "In the morning we'll ride together again." She then gave her an apple, one Shani's favorite treats, before going back to bed. 

The next morning Mélanyë took Shani out just as she'd promised, riding free in the lands about Imladris. She wasn't alone, however, as Arwen went with her, eager to be away from the confines of home. They took food with them, enough to last them and their horses all day, for they'd decided not to come back until after nightfall. At times Arwen would ride ahead, enjoying the feeling of the wind in her hair and the sun on her face, but then Mélanyë would catch up and they would race each other. Mélanyë knew, of course, that Shani was no match in speed to Asfaloth, but the horses, having as much fun as the elves, knew it was a game and so Asfaloth made sure to set a speed that Shani could keep up with. 

They stopped by a pond for a break at midday, enjoying the first blossoms of spring and the cool breeze. The horses grazed in the field while the elves talked; mostly happy talk of times and places away from the evils of the world. That night, however, when they stopped on the way back home, their conversation turned to more unhappy matters.

"What do you think living in Aman would be like?" Mélanyë asked as she lay back on the grass to look up at the stars above her. Arwen smiled softly as a far-away look came into her eyes. 

"I will never know that," she said softly, poking the campfire with the stick in her hand. Mélanyë sat up on one arm and looked at her friend as she listened. Arwen caught her eyes and smiled - a real, happy smile. "My fate is to stay here in Middle-Earth. I am promised to marry Aragorn, and though I would not trade that for anything, even if I were to change my mind now I still could not make that journey. My course has been set and I cannot alter it. Not for anyone." She looked down at the grass and sighed. 

"Your father?" Mélanyë said softly. Arwen nodded. 

"He has accepted that he cannot change my fate, but," she paused and looked towards home. "I would have liked to have his blessing. I often wonder what Ammë would say if she knew of my choice. Would she be proud of me or upset and disappointed like Atar?"

"How would you feel if your child made this choice?" asked Mélanyë. "If you knew for certain that he would meet death because of something he chose?"

"But isn't that true for anyone?" Arwen responded. A look of sudden inspiration and wisdom passed over her face as she continued. "Anyone who dies had, at some time in their life, made a choice that led to their fate."

"But Elves do not have to die," Mélanyë pointed out. 

"That was true before Fëanor made _his_ choice." Arwen said quietly. They sat in silence for a long time after that, thinking about what was said and listening to the crackling campfire. 

"What if Aragorn dies?" Mélanyë said suddenly. Arwen looked up sharply and held her eyes with the most intense stare she had ever seen.

"He won't," she said firmly. Mélanyë couldn't decide if it was great faith or sheer will that prompted those words, but the way Arwen had said them, she believed it too.

Late that night they rod back to Imladris. After making Shani comfortable in her stable, she decided to go for a walk around Rivendell. She went slowly, touching and looking at everything as she passed, almost as if it were the last time she would see these things. As she did she noticed that the leaves on the trees, rather than their rich vibrant hues of gold and copper, were now dull browns and yellows. She stopped and picked up one of the fallen leaves, and watched as it crumbled in her hand. 

Then she stood, almost in alarm, and looked around her. She saw the grand house before her, but somehow it didn't look right to her. It looked like it was aging, even dying- an empty shell of what it once was. She saw that the white and grey wood was growing dull, and the tall, graceful arches seemed almost to sag under the weight of years in which they had stood.

Only then did she fully realize the gravity of Arwen's choice. What was happening to Imladris will happen to her. She will age, wither and eventually die, just as their realm has begun to show signs of decay. Her grace will ultimately fade and perish from the world, becoming only a memory for those who will live on. 

With a heavy heart, Mélanyë opened her hand to the wind, watching the broken pieces of the leaf fly away into the night.


	32. Chapter ThirtyTwo

Chapter Thirty-Two: The Beginning of the End… 

That morning Mélanyë woke up late. After having some breakfast she decided to go to her bakery, in an attempt to go back to her normal life and, perhaps, reclaim some of the happiness she'd had. She was feeling rather restless in the nearly empty city, and hoped that having something to do would relieve some of her nervousness. 

Norin she'd learned, had already gone to Valinor while she was away. When Elrond had told this to Mélanyë, she had been upset that she hadn't had the chance to say goodbye to her. Elrond just told her calmly that her time would come soon enough, and that she will see her again. It made her feel somewhat better, but she would still be working alone, something she wasn't used to.

After she finished pouring batter into their pans and putting them in the oven, she turned back to the cutting board. She was slicing apples for a pie, something she hadn't made in so long that it felt as if it was the first time. Suddenly as she picked up her knife, a strange feeling came over her. She began to feel dizzy and looked around the room in confusion. Strange sounds began to float around her, becoming louder until she recognized them as shouts, and the clashing of swords. She looked down at her hands and stared- her knife, still in one of the apples, was stained black. She held it up, staring at the blade in shock as the sounds got louder. Then in front of her she heard another shout, louder than the others.

"What are you doing here?" It was Gandalf, at least, she thought it was. It was his face, but he was clad all in white. She looked around her and saw that she was no longer in her bakery, but in a city of stone, and instead of her kitchen knife, she held a sword. She saw also that, rather than her fair robes she wore layers of armor, black and silver crested with a white tree. She looked back up at Gandalf in confusion, and felt her lips moving, but spoke with someone else's voice.

"They called us out to fight," she said, though she didn't know why. Just as she finished there was a loud crash of stone and many Orcs poured into the city. She wanted to cry out in fear, but no sound came save for a shocked gasp. Gandalf turned and, in a surprising display of power he fought off the Orcs that had begun running towards them. When the last Orc fell he turned back to her.

"This is no place for a hobbit!" he said. "Go back to the Citadel!" Mélanyë, still in shock of her surroundings could not move or speak. When Gandalf turned away to fight again, she dropped her sword, but it did not land on the stone beneath her, but on the smooth tile floor of her bakery. She looked up and saw she was back in Rivendell, and when she picked up her knife from the floor, it was clean again.

Mélanyë bolted from her bakery and down the stairs. Her heart was pounding in her ears and she was soon out of breath, but still she ran. At last she climbed the stairs to the library and rushed in. Elrohir was sitting in his father's chair reading a book and he jolted upright in his seat when she entered. 

"Mélanyë! What's wrong?" he exclaimed. "You shouldn't exert yourself in your condition…"

"I had another dream," she interrupted. "At least, I think I did…" She paused then, thinking about what had happened. She then looked up at Elrohir's concerned face and explained. "Every other time I was sleeping when I had them, but this time I was awake! It felt like…well, like I was really there." Elrohir got up and crouched in front of her, taking her hands in his.

"Mélanyë, what happened, what did you see?" His voice held such urgency that it almost frightened her. 

"I saw Mithrandir," she began, "but he was different- dressed all in white. We were in a city of stone, being attacked by Orcs!" Elrohir started at this. He put his hands on her shoulders and gently encouraged her to continue. "I saw…I was wearing strange clothes. They were all black, but on my shirt was the emblem of a white tree."

"The Tree of Gondor," he whispered as he stood. "Minas Tirith is under attack." He sighed and sat back on his knees. She waited patiently as he thought, the fear of the vision suddenly leaving her, as if the act of telling someone else had freed her from it. _'I wish I'd known that in Fangorn,'_ she mused. Elrohir looked back up at her.

"Mélanyë," he said, desperation in his voice, "do you know if this dream has happened, or is happening…or is yet to happen?" He said the last with a little more hope in his voice, but Mélanyë frowned and shook her head.

"I don't know," she said. "Every other dream was about something that was already done…or that was just about to be," she told him. He nodded as deep lines creased his face. He looked back at her.

"You will tell me if you have any more of these dreams?" he said. It sounded like a question but she knew it was not. She nodded and he rose, leaving her in the library by herself. 

She turned to look at the towering, seemingly endless rows of shelves filled to almost bursting with books and papers, records of the long years and several lifetimes of Elves. She let her feet take her down one hall, and her hand touch the ancient volumes as she passed them. The shelves towered over her and met the ceiling, and she wondered how one would get something from the very top if it was needed, and who in all of Imladris would know what was up there to want it. 

She heard a noise behind her and turned in alarm, seeing an elf behind her , placing several books back on the shelf. 

"I'm sorry I didn't mean to startle you," she said. Mélanyë smiled at the woman. She had dark hair that was almost black, but had a reddish tint when the sun hit it through the open window, and her eyes, a light but piercing jade, seemed to read her thoughts almost instantly. She smiled back at the girl and gestured to the books beside her. "Many generations of tales are kept here. Are you looking for something in particular?"

"No," said Mélanyë, shaking her head. "I was just looking and wondering how anyone could read all this." She trailed off as she saw yet more rows of shelves further away from her. The woman chuckled softly.

"If one who lives forever spent all their time reading, they would most likely run out of books," she said. She looked at the girl curiously. "I don't see you here often," she said, "but I have seen you. You are the daughter of Ancalimë, aren't you?"

"I am," she replied.

"My name is Hyarwen, I am the keeper of tales and lore here in Imladris." She guided the girl over to an alcove among the tall stacks of books where several chairs and tables had been set, for those wishing to study or simply read in silence. "I've heard some tales about you, Mélanyë," she began after they sat. "They say you ran away in search of your love." She peered at the young elf in front of her, who had lowered her head as she spoke. "They say you sacrificed a lot for him."

"He sacrificed himself for me," the girl whispered. "He died defending me. I don't think my heart will ever stop hurting because of it." Hyarwen sat back in her chair before answering.

"I happen to know that Lindir would have willingly died for you at any time. He loved you with all of his being." She looked up at her then, wondering how she knew this. Lindir had never spoken of her and, as she had rarely spent time in the grand library, she hadn't met her before either. However, the longer she looked on this woman, the more she began to understand that she was one who knew things without being told. She could most certainly have overheard many things from others in search of books, but Mélanyë guessed that it was more a matter of her looking upon another and instantly knowing what they were thinking.

"And I loved him," she whispered to herself. She looked down as her hand unconsciously rested on her gradually growing stomach. Hyarwen tipped her head at the girl and smiled. 

"Now you have someone else to love," she said in a kind, encouraging voice. Mélanyë looked up and felt herself caught in a long searching gaze. The elf's eyes were mesmerizing and she felt that she could not look away. Finally Hyarwen broke eye contact with a flutter of lashes and sat back in her chair. "You have grown much in a short time," she said, as if speaking a prophecy, "but there is still much for you to do." She stood and took Mélanyë's hand, gently lifting her from the chair. "You have a lot more growing up to do, little one, and it has to happen fast if you are to be prepared for what awaits you." She bowed low to the girl and smiled. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have books to put away." 

Mélanyë stayed where she was for several minutes thinking over those words. She took a deep breath, knowing that she had been right. She felt it in her heart; some trial was coming worse than the pain of bearing a child. It was a feeling in the very depths of her stomach, nagging in the back of her mind. 

Shaking her head, she began to head for the door, back to her bakery. She was so lost in thought that when the door burst open in front of her she nearly screamed. Elrond was there, just returned from his long ride from the very eaves of the Dimholt. Still dirty and weary from his journey, dressed in his travelling clothes, Elrond had not cared to clean up after Elrohir had told him of her recent vision. He'd immediately rushed through the house, searching for the girl, needing to speak to her himself. When he saw her there before him he knelt, taking her shoulders in his strong hands. 

"You have seen the truth," he told her cryptically. "You must come with me, now." Standing, he led the bewildered girl out of the room. 


	33. Chapter ThirtyThree

Chapter Thirty-Three: The Lord of the Rings

Elrond led her through the Homely House in and out of many rooms, going to parts of it she had never been before. At last he brought her to a large chamber dark, and yet also light. The walls, though black as ebony, shone with the sunlight that filtered through the tiny holes in the ceiling, like stars. The floor was covered with intricate carvings that Mélanyë could not identify, but yet to her seemed somewhat familiar. 

In the center of the room were three seats set in a circle. One glimmering red, the other shining blue and the third shimmering white. Elrond sat in the blue chair, and as he did Mélanyë became aware of a ring on his finger, filling the room with a cool brilliance that seemed dazzling in the dim room. He motioned for her to sit in the white chair. 

"This is the Chamber of the Three. A gathering place where, long ago the keepers of the Elven Rings would gather and combine their power for the establishment and protection of our realms." He looked around the room with a slight frown tugging at his lips. "The Rings are bound to one another. If the Dark One were to gain one, he would surely find them all, for they call to each other. Nenya rests with Galadriel in Lothlorien, Vilya I have in my possession," he lifted his hand for emphasis, "and Narya is with Mithrandir." He leaned over to her. 

"Mélanyë, what you saw, I believe it to be real, happening even as we speak. If as you say Mithrandir is in Gondor, then the city is under attack, and the fate of all of Middle-Earth is about to be decided. Mélanyë," he sat forward in his chair for emphasis, "You are the only one in all of Imladris, nay, the west of Middle-Earth who knows what is happening at this moment in Gondor." Mélanyë's lips parted in silent shock, trying to grasp what he'd said. At last she spoke.

"But I know nothing- nothing more than what I told Elrohir."

"I think you know more than you realize, young one," he said. "You have been given a gift, Mélanyë, a gift of the Valar. The Valar do not bestow gifts lightly. Yours has a purpose, and perhaps it is to show us how the Third Age will end, or how the Fourth will begin." He paused, allowing her to muse on the meaning of his apparent repetition, which she quickly realized was nothing of the sort. If Sauron won, the Third Age would indeed end; an end to all ages and a complete darkness would cover all places, peoples and times. There would be no more ages. If however, Men prevailed, it would mark the beginning of a new and brighter Fourth Age in which evil has been subdued, Men come into their power and Elves would slowly fade from memory. She knew in a moment this was what he spoke of. Either way it was an end to all she held dear.

"I do not know how to use this gift," she said, "the dreams come when they wish, and leave in the same manner. I cannot control what I see."

"That is why I have brought you here," said Elrond. "As I said, the Three are joined. The bearer of one can speak to the bearer of the others, even when not in the same room. I can use Vilya to amplify your dreams, perhaps lengthening them so that you may see more of what is happening, since the events you described were in proximity to Narya." Mélanyë frowned.

"Aren't you worried that Sauron may sense the presence of the Three as soon as you attempt to use them?" She had heard the lore of the rings, and knew that they had been made by elves long ago at the will of Sauron, only to be corrupted by his arts when at last he made the One. Therefore, any wielders of the lost Three, or the four of the Seven that had not been found would be sensed by Sauron in a moment. Even though the Three remained unsullied, they still were tied to the fate of the One.

"If the battle goes ill all will be laid bare to his Eye whether or not we choose to wield them. There is no longer any reason to fear their use when, no matter where the victory lies, all the world will be changed when this battle is won." This last seemed to convince the girl, who sat small and somewhat frightened in the great white throne made for the wielder of Nenya. Touching the glittering stone beneath her fingers caused her to wonder what was happening in Lothlorien and, before she knew what was happening, she no longer saw Elrond sitting before her. 

Instead she sat in a deep forest on a fallen mallorn trunk. She stood immediately, seeing that the mallorn had not died, for nothing dies in Lorien while the Elves lived there. The tree had been cut down. She looked up in alarm and saw before her a battle raging fiercely within the fences of Lorien. 

She came closer, not fearing any danger, watching as the Elves defended against the invading force of Orcs. She saw clad in bright mail, Celeborn Lord of Lothlorien fighting alongside his scouts and march-wardens. She looked up to the sky, seeing the sun high above indicating that it was just after midday as it was in Imladris. She looked back to the battle, but when she was about to move closer the vision faded and she again saw Elrond before her.

He was staring at her with concern, for to him she had sat still, looking simply as if she were daydreaming. She blinked and focused on his eyes before speaking.

"Lothlorien is under attack as well," she said.

"You've had another vision?" he asked in amazement. She nodded and continued. 

"Celeborn is defending his land well with his scouts. The Orcs, though numerous, will never make it to the City." Elrond looked relieved.

"You are linked to Nenya as well," he said. He then sat forward in his chair, motioning for her to do the same. "Mélanyë, I would like to try to use Vilya to see what is happening in Gondor." She looked at him with wide eyes, nodding stiffly. She knew that she would have to watch a battle, terrible and frightening even though she herself would be in no danger. It was a horrible thought to know you would be seeing such a thing, unable to help or do anything but watch the destruction. 

Before she could think any further Elrond reached out for her. Vilya began to glow even brighter, until it seemed that all her sight was overwhelmed by the soft blue light. It was not unpleasant, however, and instead she felt her heart filled with calm as she waited for the visions to come. The room was still and silent as he placed his palm on her forehead. Only the sound of their soft breathing could be heard, but inside they began to hear other sounds. Voices and shouts, the crackle of flames and the sound of stone shattering began to slowly grow louder. Then the images came; vague and blurry at first, but soon they emerged with painful clarity, as if everything were sharpened exceedingly beyond what was normal. 

The first thing she saw was a view of Minas Tirith. The great white stone city was burning, her walls surrounded by an army beyond reckoning. Dimly Mélanyë felt Elrond's palm press more firmly to her forehead as he saw the city too. Soon their vision drew closer until they could see the great battle on the Pellanor. Men and Orcs fought ceaselessly while the great dark shapes of the Nazgul hovered overhead. 

The two elves sat together watching the battle unfold. They saw the arrival of the Rohirrim, the Harradrim and the Mumakil. At the same time they also saw the battle inside the walls of the city as the Orcs gradually broke through each level getting closer to the Citadel. Finally, they all but let out a cry of triumph as they watched the Army of the Dead sweep through the city, killing every orc and fell beast in their path. 

Numbly, Elrond lifted his hand from Mélanyë's head and sat back. She herself dropped back into her chair in exhaustion. They had been together in the Chamber of the Three for many hours, and the sun was now low in the sky. After a moment they looked at one another, sharing a relieved smile. The battle was won, for now.

Heading back to the courtyard, Elrond and Mélanyë were stopped by his children, who had all been waiting patiently to hear any news. He looked around him, as now several more elves had come to hear their Lord's words, and smiled at each of them, his eyes at last catching Arwen's as he spoke.

"The sword of Elendil has returned to Minas Tirith," he said. All around Imladris rose a great cheer.


	34. Chapter ThirtyFour

Chapter Thirty-Four: The Return of the King

The courtyard was alive with elves as the great escort prepared to depart. Elrond and his children were there, as well as Glorfindel and the other nobles of Imladris. They all dressed in their finery, for they travelled to meet the King.

Elrond had held a short council with many of the wise among the elves shortly after Mélanyë's revealing vision. The decision was unanimous- they would go to Gondor and support Aragorn, for good or ill. They all knew that there was every possibility that they would loose the final battle, but they decided to meet whatever comes as one united people under Eru. 

Mélanyë was also there, prepared to journey with them and dressed in a shining gown of blue and silver. Shani also was dressed in her finery, a saddle and bridle of purple accented with silver rested on her shining coat, and Laspis and Mélanyë's bow were strapped to it. She neighed happily at the prospect of going on a journey.

Elrond looked around at his people and smiled. Mélanyë could only guess what was going through his mind at that moment, for she knew he thought this was the last time he would see his realm while they were still a free people. Even then, he felt somewhere in his heart that the war would be lost, and that all would fall under the great shadow. That is why, although his words were hopeful, Mélanyë heard in them a great sadness and almost a lamenting of things that could no longer be. 

"We now leave behind our fair city to stand with Men in their final hour. You who stand here today know that if the battle goes ill, there will be no escaping the power of the Dark One to the Blessed Realm. If, however, the battle is won, we will be witness to one of the greatest and joyous celebrations of the new Fourth Age of this world." As he spoke these words he looked into the eyes of Arwen and smiled.

The fair company set out soon after. They rode by the swiftest path, down through the gap of Rohan. The journey was mostly without incident, save for the shock that swept through the company as they beheld the ruin of Isengard. The Ents still guarded the tower, and greeted the elves as they passed.

On the fourth day they left behind what was left of the Ring of Isengard. Mélanyë suddenly halted her pony, trembling as she held the reigns. Elrohir rode up next to her and took them from her as they fell from her shaking hands. 

"Mélanyë, what is it?" asked Elrond. She looked in his direction, not at him, but through him, as if she could see beyond for many miles. He looked behind himself and realized that her gaze was fixed on the east, towards Gondor and Mordor. He turned back to her. "It's begun, hasn't it?" She nodded numbly. 

"Estel rides for the Black Gate," she said in a voice that seemed not her own. She shut her eyes tightly as images began coming to her mind, vivid images blocking out all other sight, disorienting her awareness of the present. The longer she faced east the more detailed and intense they were. Finally Elrohir caught her as she slid from Shani's back. 

For the next several hours they all sat and listened as Mélanyë told them of what she saw. She lay on the grass, numb to all else save the images in her mind. She told of Aragorn and his confrontation with the Mouth of Sauron at the Black Gate, the mithril coat and sword, and at last, the final battle. She became very quiet near the end, not wishing to give voice to what she was seeing, but instead allowing the others to imagine for themselves. At last, after many hours she stood in alarm. The others thought that something terrible had happened and a wave of disbelief and shock went through them. She looked sharply east as if expecting something to appear. At last it did.

Far east, on the edge of even elven sight, were the great mountains of Mordor. As they all turned they saw a faint glow behind them, followed by what looked like an explosion of enormous power. Mélanyë gasped with the shock of it, and Elrond knew she saw it through the eyes of one who was on the battlefield, close enough to feel the intense heat of the fire. Tears in her eyes, words came from her, a mere whisper, but a triumphant cry in the quiet stillness around her.

"It's over."

A week later the company finally came within sight of Minas Tirith. To Mélanyë, the look on Arwen's face at the sight of the White City was one of joy mingled with pride and excitement. Elrond placed a hand on his daughter's and spoke softly to her.

"You are sure, _yeldënya?_" he said. She looked to him and smiled through her tears, nodding wordlessly. He gave her hand an encouraging squeeze as he blinked back his own tears. "Ride on," he commanded to Glorfindel. 

They arrived in the city soon after, everyone eager to reach the celebration they could hear in progress on the top level. They were not hindered as they rode up the spiraling streets, and only halted on the sixth level as they were met by a most familiar and welcome face.

"_Mae Govannen, Legolas Thranduilion!"_ cried Glorfindel who jumped excitedly from his horse and embraced the Silvan elf in a welcoming hug. The other elf had dressed in his princely robes, his hair hanging loose from the circlet upon his brow, slightly crimped from the warrior braids he had worn for so long. Beauty radiated from him like the soft glow of the moon. "Important things go on overhead," Glorfindel continued, "I hope we have not come too late!"

"Indeed not, my old friend," said the prince. "You are always timely in your appearances." He then turned to regard the rest of the company, approaching Elrond's horse. He touched his hand to his heart and extended it in greeting. "My lord Elrond," he said as he helped him from his horse. He then turned, catching the eyes of Arwen. She smiled down at him and extended her hand. He took it almost reverently and kissed it. "My lady." She slid from the horse with all the grace one would expect of a Vala. He then bowed to her, again touching his heart and rising to cup her cheek with his hand. "Your King awaits you," he barely said. 

Excited, hasty preparations were then made to ready the party to be presented to the King. Since they were all fresh from riding, many wished to clean up before the coming ceremony, and Arwen's handmaids worked fervently as they braided her hair into the crown she was given. At last all was ready. Elrond nodded to Legolas, and the Mirkwood prince turned to the final gate. Only those closest to him saw the glistening of joyful tears in the Sindar's eyes as he led the party up the final steps to the seventh level of the city.


	35. Chapter ThirtyFive

Chapter Thirty-Five: End of an Age 

After the Coronation if King Elessar, there had been a grand feast prepared in the Great Hall. Everyone from Imladris was invited, as well as the other guests from Rohan, Lothlorien and other lands who had come to see the new king of Gondor. The affair couldn't have been more lavish and no expense was spared. Every person in attendance felt like a king or queen themselves with their treatment, and all were joyful, save one.

Mélanyë sat with the party from Imladris, seated between Glorfindel and Elrohir. She too appreciated the wonderful dinner and grand atmosphere, but there was only one thing on her mind- Frodo. She had seen him at the Coronation, bowed when everyone else had bowed, and been exceedingly happy at knowing he was safe. But she hadn't been allowed to see him.

She knew of course, that he was busy with other people, now that he was such an important person, but that didn't stop her from feeling sad and frustrated at being denied access to her brother. She had spent the past few months without him, worrying about his safety and wondering if she will ever see him again. Now that they were over and he was so close, it was incredibly frustrating not being allowed to go to him.

"Are you alright?" Glorfindel's question startled her out of her brooding. She had been sitting, staring off into space and not noticing her surroundings. "You haven't touched your food," he continued, "I thought you would be hungry." She half smirked and looked down at her plate. She had been pushing her food around for the past hour with her fork to make it look like she was eating, but in truth she had no appetite.

"I'm just not feeling well, Glorfindel," she apologized. "I'm not being very good company, am I?" The Elven Lord laughed lightly.

"That is quite alright," he said. "Elladan was entertaining me with tales of impersonating his brother a time or two!" Elrohir looked up at this and exclaimed in playful annoyance. Mélanyë couldn't help but giggle at this and the twin smiled knowingly at Glorfindel, who gently caressed her cheek. "Mission accomplished."

The rest of the night passed with Mélanyë making a concerted effort to seem happy and entertained. Inside, however, she was lonely. No matter how hard they tried, Glorfindel and the twins couldn't replace her brother. She looked often to the head of the table and, while she could see Elrond and Gandalf sitting near Aragorn, the people around him blocked her view of Frodo.

When the dinner ended and the guests began to disperse, Mélanyë got up and headed for the doors, thinking it time to turn in for the night since she was exhausted by the long day. She was half way there when she was pulled back by a hand on her arm.

"Merry!" she exclaimed, her gloom and fatigue lifting slightly. "It's so good to see you! How are you?" she asked as she hugged him. She could feel Pippin standing behind her.

"We are well, m'lady," said Pippin, and to her surprise they both bowed courteously to her. She blushed. There was a moment of charged silence in which none of them knew what to say, but much was understood without words.

"It has been a long time," she finally broke the silence quietly, "much has happened."

"To all of us," said Merry. Pippin looked up at his cousin and seemed taken off guard by Merry's serious tone. After a moment, Mélanyë and Merry seemed to snap out of their stare and blinked. "Frodo asked me to give this to you," he said, handing her a folded piece of paper. "He's very sorry he hasn't been able to see you yet, but he and Sam are important hobbits now; their time is not their own." Mélanyë let out a relieved smile and gratefully took the note. Before Merry let go she grabbed his wrist and pulled him into another hug. Merry was startled, but hugged her back warmly.

"Thank you," she said quietly, leaning her cheek on his shoulder. "You don't know what this means to me." They were quiet for several seconds and Pippin began to get impatient, darting his eyes back and forth between them, wondering when the embrace would end. Finally, it did. Mélanyë thanked them both again, gave Pippin a quick hug, and vanished through the doorway.  
The two cousins stood for a moment looking at the closed door. Pippin looked at Merry and slowly, a grin surfaced on the younger hobbit's face. He looked from Merry, to the door, then back at Merry, then finally nudged his cousin with his elbow. Merry jumped and blinked, yelping his surprise.

"You _like_ her, don't you?" Pippin accused, laughter in his voice. Merry frowned at his cousin.

"Don't be absurd, Pip," he defended, "I'm a hobbit and she's an elf."

"Half an elf," Pippin pointed out. There was a pause as they continued to stare at the door, then Merry playfully punched Pippin in the arm and ran away. Across the room, Glorfindel watched the entire exchange between the three hobbits and smiled.

Mélanyë waited impatiently by the outer wall of the seventh level courtyard. The view of Osgilliath across the river was spectacular, and she found her eyes repeatedly drawn in its direction. After a moment, she looked down and for the tenth time, unfolded the note Merry had given her. Frodo's sure, steady hand asked her in Sindarin to meet him by the north-east wall of the courtyard at midnight.

She traced a few graceful letters with her finger and wondered, for the tenth time, why he chose to address her in Sindarin, which happened to be neither of their native tongues. Had Bilbo not told her of the many Elvish lessons he'd put his nephew through when he was younger, she would have sworn the letter had been written by a native speaker.

All thoughts of why or how the letter was written vanished, however, when she heard soft footsteps behind her. Mélanyë closed her eyes, clutched the note tightly to prepare herself, took a deep breath and turned.


	36. Goodbye

**This is not a new chapter**

**This is an announcement for all readers of my active stories that I will no longer be updating on this site, but on my new website (see my profile page for address)**

**After having a story deleted by I have decided that the site is more trouble than it's worth. I am upset about the necessity of this step, but it was a long time coming. **

**I am as now setting up a 'review board' for my website, but until it is up and running, all reviews should be sent to melanye magma. ca **

**Again, thank you for reading my stories, and I hope to see you all at my new site.**

**Sincerely,**

**Melissa, aka**

**MelanyeBaggins**


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